


Dead Space between the Stars

by svartalfheimr



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Growing Old Together, M/M, New Republic era, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut, Switching, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and they will be, i do what i want the mouse cannot stop me!!, i do what i want!!! you can't stop me mouse!!!, palpatine is in the forever box! [everyone liked that], there is now, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 109,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27226909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svartalfheimr/pseuds/svartalfheimr
Summary: They find him on Exegol, tossed away like a decommissioned droid, hidden behind horrific jars containing defective clones of the first Supreme Leader. His stasis is perfectly stable and, when they see him at first, they don't believe their eyes.A male Zabrak in his prime, with stark black markings adorning red skin—intricate tattoos from head to toe. He's in peak condition. They have no idea how long he's been left here to rot.
Relationships: Darth Maul/CT-7567 | Rex, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Poe Dameron/Finn, Rose Tico & Darth Maul
Comments: 238
Kudos: 185





	1. Prologue (Exegol)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [7567](https://archiveofourown.org/users/7567/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEWWO ITS ME WITH THAT WEIRD PAIRING YOU FIND ON YOUR DASH FROM TIME TO TIME HOW ARE YALL 
> 
> Anyway, ever wondered what could happen if Maul got himself time-yeeted to the post-TROS era? Yeah me neither but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I’m still coming out of the trashcan to yell on your front porch like a lunatic because haha fun, right?  
> Also, what do you mean “kix was the one who got frozen” I don't understand ok; Mouse & canon DNI
> 
> (trigger warnings for each chapter in the end notes)

  
  


They find him on Exegol, tossed away like a decommissioned droid, hidden behind horrific jars containing defective clones of the first Supreme Leader. His stasis is perfectly stable and, when they see him at first, they don't believe their eyes.

A male Zabrak in his prime, with stark black markings adorning red skin—intricate tattoos from head to toe. He's in peak condition. They have no idea how long he's been left here to rot.

They take him with them, with the tank and everything, too afraid to do something that could jeopardize his life. When they bring him back to base, the General stands in front of him, his face grim and they can all sense his sadness seeping out. It's often the case with their General; sometimes when he's happy, everyone around him feels the urge to smile and laugh. Sometimes when he's sad, the entire room mourns with him.

“He feels cold,” the General tells them. No one really understands what he means by that yet they all feel dread settling inside them. 

The technicians are certain; he's been in stasis for a while. “Fifty standard years, give or take. Maybe more.” Half a century is horrifying but not impossible; Palpatine was alive at the time. Perhaps he's the one who imprisoned him. 

“Everyone he knew must be dead,” someone whispers. Fifty years isn't that long, especially considering the lifespan of most sentient species. The problem is  _ these _ past fifty years have been… eventful. Silence reigns for a while. No one wants to imagine it. How would anyone feel, waking up in a galaxy where you were alone, where everyone you ever loved has been gone for decades? 

The whispers begin to spread. The Zabrak remains in stasis; the General says they shouldn't hurry. They need to be ready before they wake him up. “I know someone who might understand,” one man says one day. “He's been in a similar situation.”

He is difficult to find. He's part of a pirate crew; they're not usually easy to find but he’s a particularly tough case. General Dameron becomes impatient. They let him spend time with their own General; they're both always happier when they are together. 

It takes weeks but they eventually find him. It doesn’t take much to convince him; their General simply says, “We found someone in stasis. He’s from your time.” He arrives five days later.

“The name's Rex,” the man says. He has antique blasters in his holsters and his armor is both familiar and entirely foreign. “I was a Captain during the Clone War. I served under General Skywalker.”

The whispers start back again. Skywalker is a big name—there's not many people left in the galaxy who've never heard it before. Luke Skywalker is a legend among the Resistance but not only. Everyone says he was the last of his kind—the last Jedi. 

But Luke Skywalker would have been too young to participate in the Clone War, which can only mean one thing; it had to be a parent.

One of the old ones murmurs  _ Darth Vader _ and the name instills fear in their minds. Most of them were born after the fall of the Empire but some stories stick more than others. The tale of Darth Vader is one of them.

“No,” Rex snaps, jaw clenched. “His name was Anakin Skywalker.”

This name, not many know it. Some do—the Hero with No Fear, the old ones whisper. Presumed dead during the rise of the late Empire, later revealed to be General Organa’s biological father—Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith.

“I’d discovered a plot against the Jedi. The leader of the Separatists–our enemy–abducted me and put me in stasis,” he explains. “Eventually, the ship got lost en route. I was frozen for fifty years.”

They bring him to the cryo-chamber so that he can see the Zabrak for himself. They don't expect his reaction.

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “It can’t be.”

It has become a game—can you guess who the frozen one was? It's a bit sordid and disrespectful but, sometimes, it helps keep the memories at bay. At night, people will play, imagine an entire life for the Zabrak, speculating about a family, friends, and happy people who never had to fight for freedom. The more jaded scoff; if he had a perfect life then they wouldn't have found him there. No—he was someone dangerous. Someone they shouldn't wake up.

You don't know that, the most hopeful retort. Everyone deserves a chance. We're better than that.

The consensus is settled on a young man who discovered the Emperor's secret before anyone else. A consensus isn't reached concerning what he did with the information. He tried to profit from it. He tried to fight before it was too late. He tried to forget but Palpatine already knew what he discovered. 

“He's a Sith,” Rex says, shattering each and every theory they had. No one should be surprised–they found him on Exegol–but they all are. The General simply nods. Maybe not everyone, then. “He's very, very dangerous.”

“Have you ever met him?” the General asks, head tilted to the side. 

“No,” Rex replies. “I know he was active during the war. There's something wrong, though.” He points with his finger. No one said anything but they all noticed he hasn't moved since he arrived. As soon as he saw the Zabrak, he stopped approaching. Some of them get nervous—maybe they should have kept their distance as well. Sith control minds; they twist everything and make you do things. “He has legs.” They look at each other, confused. Of course he has legs. Why wouldn't he? “General Kenobi cut him in half on Naboo, a decade before the War. He had cybernetics during my time. This can't be him.”

It doesn’t make any sense. You can’t grow legs; once you lose them, it’s forever. 

“He's a clone,” the General concludes. There's something about Rex’s face when he says that word. In an instant, he's closed off.

“Yeah. Chances are he's a clone.”

The word spreads. People get nervous. They shouldn't have a Sith here, among them. He's too dangerous to be kept around. They never say what to do with him. No one wants to deal with him. The General is in a tough position. He's got a heart of kyber—they all know he won't kill the Zabrak without giving him a chance at a new life. Most of them are comforted by that fact. But not all of them.

One night, Rex stops one of the spies from sabotaging the tank. From there on, he keeps vigil at the Zabrak’s side. No one dares asking why. He remains watching, back against the frozen tank, like a silent guard waiting to strike whoever trespasses. 

We can’t risk it, the spies say. It’s easy to argue with them but no one does. The spies are rarely wrong.

Some evenings, the General goes to the tank and talks with Rex. They find a common ground in their respective military pasts. Rex is mostly quiet about his time serving. They assume it's because he did things he isn't proud of. No one judges him for that—everyone who's still here has something they can't forget. They would've left otherwise.

“They called me FN-2187. I don’t remember if I ever had a name,” the General confesses one evening. Rex stares at the tank and nods. “Poe gave me one. I like it.”

“Finn suits you,” he replies. “I was CT-7567. I chose my name. Most of us did.”

“Us?”

“Clones. We were all clones,” he says, voice rough. “Brothers.”

They look at each other, silently. 

“It wasn’t like that for us,” the General says after a while. “Not really. But we're trying now. I have friends. Family.” They stay silent for a long time, looking at the tank. “You could have one too.”

“I already had one,” Rex states. He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the night.

It is settled—they will wake him up. They cannot let the Zabrak stay like this; they wouldn’t be better than Palpatine if they did. Once the decision is made, there is a lot left to do. Should they wake him up on the base? Should they let him go as soon as he’s conscious? Should they imprison him? Would that make them monsters if they do?

“We’re not letting him on base,” General Dameron says for the third time. He’s been arguing with their General for almost an hour now. “It’s too risky and you know it.”

“What do you suggest then?” one of the technicians asks, frustration evident in her voice. They’re all frustrated; they’ve been at it for several days, unable to reach an agreement. Rex stays silent during all of their meetings but still attends. Some of them think he does only because their General wants him here.

Rex is of a rough sort. He’s clearly a strong man and, even if there’s not much left about his time, everyone knows the Clone War had been a galaxy-wide event—probably the only conflict of the century to be on such a large scale. The victors gave their name to the war and the old ones have heard of their legendary skills. The clones are said to have been incredible warriors, the very best. The Mandalorians proudly claim that they had the blood of one of their finest warriors coursing through their veins. The First Order claimed they were subpar compared to their own creations, something to surpass rather than replicate. Since Rex arrived, many wonder whether all of it is true or not but no one dares asking. He shuts himself off almost immediately whenever someone tries to breach the subject of his own past so they stop trying. They don’t like talking about the past either.

“We put him on a ship,” General Dameron declares. A wave of protests surges. He raises a placating hand. “Please, hear me out. Hear me out. It would be a controlled environment; that’d allow us to do things slowly. We don’t want to spook him.”

“What if he takes control of the ship? We let him escape without any guarantee he won’t cause trouble?”

“We take out the thrusters, then,” General Dameron suggests with a nonchalant shrug. “Only contact with the external world would be through an unmanned shuttle. Should be enough.”

The idea does not appease everyone. They put it into a vote. General Dameron has their General’s support. Once he raises his hand, many of the indecisive raise their own as well. The majority is in favor. Those against it accept the idea gracefully but demand to discuss the specifics thoroughly, passing each decision through a vote. It will be tedious but everyone agrees it is for the best.

No one comments on the fact that Rex did not vote, even if everyone noticed.

The mission will be as follows: they will take away the thrusters and the hyperdrive as soon as the ship reaches its destination—anything that isn’t necessary for life support won’t stay. The Zabrak will be kept in locked quarters made specifically for him. They can’t let anything come down to luck; it is too dangerous. They need to find a way for them to communicate with him without having to be in the same room. Many want to use the ship’s comm system. It is the only time Rex intervenes. “We need to be able to meet him face to face. We can’t expect him to accept us if we don’t accept him.”

No one comments on the use of  _ we _ even if everyone noticed. 

The engineers start working towards a solution that would soothe everyone’s worries. They settle on energy shields and add in a magnetic field generator just in case he needs to be incapacitated quickly. Rex scowls at the containment field but nods approvingly.

“We’re still ignoring the biggest issue,” one of the spies says. “He’s a Force wielder. And, according to the captain here, a very dangerous one at that. If it were Kylo Ren, you wouldn’t be all so complacent.”

The name sets a rush of whispers and doubts. The spy is right; a containment field won’t be enough. They need something else.

“I may have an idea,” their General mutters. Despite the low volume of his voice, everyone stops talking. “Rey found some books about reptiles…”

The idea is far-fetched but they do not have much of a choice. Pilots are sent to the Expansion Region, course set to Mykr. They are to retrieve six Ysalamiri—some kind of lizards said to be able to stop Force wielders from using their powers. They need more than one; the more there are, the bigger the radius of their ability will be. With six of them, it should be more than enough for the entire ship.

When they come back, they have seven of them, all females. No one finds them particularly endearing but at least they don’t seem aggressive. The problem is that they feed on the nutrients they find on trees native to the planet and it’s impossible to detach them from said trees without killing them. The pilots had to cut down the trunks and bring them with each lizard. If they don’t find a solution quickly the lizards will die after depleting the nutrients left.

The engineers find a temporary solution that actually becomes a permanent one. They have a very specific name for their creations but General Dameron likes to call them fake trees. The Ysalamiri adapt quickly to their fake trees.

Whenever their General hovers close to the lizards, he seems bothered. When asked about it, he says he’s not fond of reptiles in general and that he’s probably tired. “I think I need caf,” he jokes. “Or maybe stims. I feel like I’m walking through fog.” Rex always watches him intently when that happens. He never says why.

Eventually, the ship is ready. They install the lizards with the fake trees between the crew’s quarters and the containment cell for now. Once everything else is set, they will take them to the cockpit. Being confined in a closed environment doesn't mean they should see the same thing all the time. At least, like that, they'll see the stars.

“How do we know if the lizards work?” one of the pilots asks. No one replies; they’re not really sure and they can’t confirm they do without a Force sensitive present. Unfortunately, Rey’s gone AWOL—their General is always adamant to say he knows she’s fine but, really, no one is sure. It’s been months since they last heard of her. Their General is rarely wrong, though, so they trust him and his good instincts.

“They’ll do their job,” Rex states without a shadow of doubt. They don’t know how he knows. They don’t question his statement. If he says it’ll work then they’re inclined to believe it.

The time comes to build a solid crew. To the surprise of no one, Rex volunteers. If he hadn’t, they would have insisted anyway. One of the technicians volunteers as well; she’s kind of a big deal. Their General looks at her with a smile on his face and he nods approvingly. General Dameron will be their contact to the external world; his astromech will pilot the shuttle whenever they need to get fresh supplies. None of the medics volunteer. They say their skills are required elsewhere; they’re not wrong. The crew will make do with an emdee droid. Five engineers need to join the list; they will deal with the thrusters once they arrive and will leave with the shuttle once it's done. It’s apparently an engineering feat to accomplish so they don’t lack volunteers. Their General suggests taking one of the modified droids—just in case. Rex doesn’t seem happy with the idea of having a lethal droid with them but agrees nonetheless. 

They’ve got their crew. Eight organics and three droids.

Their final location is undisclosed. Rumors say it’s at the edge of Wild Space. Others say it’s in the Core Worlds, in the Abregado system. No one knows for sure. 

The crew takes off on a rainy morning. Their General watches them depart with a small smile on his face. When asked about it, he just shakes his head and offers the world a grin so blinding it feels like the rain stops for an instant.

“I just have a good feeling about this,” he says and they all leave it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: alienation, dehumanization (if i missed any please tell me)
> 
> This fic was supposed to be finished already but... well it grew legs but it's _almost_ done. I have to post the prologue today because happy anniversary tony! The year is 2020 and it’s a mess but! 2020 also means i’ve been with my partner for a decade now. Can you imagine?we were teenagers at the time; i wasn’t even fully out yet! Some of the fics i wrote in 2010 were about spn, bruh—supernatural! Can you imagine that shit azscdxckjslmk
> 
>  **next up:** local man wakes up in the future, decides to make it everyone else's problem
> 
> ALSO. there's a maulrex discord now! it's still super shiny and new lmao [come join us](https://discord.gg/Awqc2FB)!


	2. Dathomir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update because why not?

  
  


Someone is talking. The sounds appear to be muffled. His head feels… almost empty. He cannot feel his hands, nor his legs. He opens his eyes. He sees nothing.

“You are experiencing temporary blindness,” someone says. Not someone. Something. “I am administering—”

He lets the droid talk, uncaring. There is someone else. He can hear them—the way they breathe, the rustle of their clothing. When he takes control of his limbs again, he sits up and turns his head towards them. Their breath hitches.

“Where am I?” he asks neutrally.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, voice wavering. She is afraid. She knows who he is. A spike of alarm runs through him; he extinguishes it before the droid can notice it. She shifts. One step towards him. He bows his head.

“Thirsty,” he mutters, voice rasping. He can hear her shuffling, the sound of liquid splashing against something. He coughs. Her breathing comes closer. She hovers a hand over his arm.

Maul smiles.

He throws the droid away with a simple shove of his right hand and snakes his left arm around her throat, twisting them so he can strangle her and blocks her limbs from fighting back. Her hair tickles his chin. “Where am I?” he asks again, this time his anger plain and audible in each of his vowels. He tries to get a sense out of the room, extending his awareness.

Nothing happens. He calls on his anger. Still nothing. “What did you do,” he snarls, cutting her oxygen intake, and, when he feels the hypo on his neck, it is too late. He falls down, grunting, and brings her down on the ground with him. He is losing consciousness. He fights against it—to no avail. Before he passes out, he hears a deep voice above him.

“We’ll do this the hard way, then,” the voice says and darkness encompasses him before he can reply.

  
  
  
  


“Wake up.”

He opens his eyes. He is lying on a bed. There is a Human in front of him. Male. Close to his age—perhaps older. Strong build, authoritative stance. This man has killed. He is observing him, watching his every movement, waiting.

“Do you know your name?” the man asks. Maul gives him a narrow look. He says nothing. “Do you know who you are?”

He does not reply, simply bares his teeth. The man’s face stays impassive. Maul stands up. His legs protest but he does not let them disobey him. There is a faint tremor in his right hand. He tightens it into a fist. The man observes the gesture before his eyes go back to staring at his.

“Alright,” the man says. He crosses his arms over his chest, shifts his weight on one foot, the casual stance nothing but a deliberate lie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Maul puts one foot in front of the other. Again. And again. He walks. Then paces–from left to right, left to right–still staring at the man. He bares his neck, tries to gain some kind of reaction. Nothing. He stops, then takes a step forward. Nothing. He takes another one. The man only blinks. Maul extends his hand.

His fingers scratch on an energy field, making it crackle around them. Impressive. It is almost invisible to the naked eye. He takes another step forward and rattles one of his horns against it, still watching the man. 

“An attempt on Senator Amidala’s life was thwarted this morning. She was part of the delegation sent to Mandalore to represent the Republic during the Peace Conference with the Confederacy,” the man says. “We suspect Count Dooku was the instigator.” He falls silent after that.

Maul tilts his head, stepping away from the energy field. Ah. This is a trial. His Master must be displeased with him. Very well.

“Padmé Amidala Naberrie,” he replies. The man nods, frowning. Maul’s eyes narrow fractionally. “Queen Amidala of Naboo.”

“Senator Amidala,” the man reiterates. Maul smiles.

“Senator Palpatine, is it not?”

The man’s face morphs into understanding. Maul starts to pace. What did he say?

“Yes,” the man agrees. “Senator Palpatine.” He shifts to his other foot. “The Trade Federation blockade on Naboo put them in a difficult situation.” Maul keeps pacing. He does not let the words affect him. “The Republic sent two Jedi to act as Ambassadors to meet Viceroy Gunray.”

His blood runs hot. Hatred fills his veins. _Jedi._ His eyes narrow but he says nothing. This is a trial. He will not fail it.

“Two Jedi. A master and an apprentice,” the man continues. “Quinlan Vos and Aayla Secura.” 

Maul gives him nothing. His hatred, his hunger, his need for revenge is his own. The man’s eyes widen. Maul almost freezes before he remembers himself. He paces, eyes fixed on the other’s face.

The man takes a step forward and leans towards the energy field. Maul tilts his head in curiosity and indulges him by taking a step forward himself. The man stares at him, face impassive, opens his mouth then whispers, “Sheev Palpatine is Darth Sidious.”

Fear overtakes him. He recoils. He raises his hand, calls on the—

He flinches. He cannot feel the Force. He did not notice, too certain he would make quick work of the man. He cannot reach it. He puts a fist on the energy field. He has to kill the man. This is not a trial. His Master would never reveal himself just to test him—especially to a stranger. He bares his teeth, watches around him. He punches the field; from what he sees, the room has been made specifically in mind to keep someone locked in, without it looking like a holding cell. 

A surge of horror rises within him. The fact that he cannot feel the Force may not be a coincidence. If his Master notices his capture, Maul will not survive his wrath.

“Palpatine won’t find you here,” the man says, taking a step forward, his boots making the energy field sizzle. “Your master can’t reach you here.”

Maul stares at him, focused on finding the lies on his face. “We will all die,” he snarls.

The man shakes his head. Fool. He will make quick work of him once he escapes. “Do you know your name?”

“I do,” he replies but says nothing else. The man simply nods, satisfied by his answer. Maul prowls, incapable of standing still.

“Do you know who you are?”

“I do.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Maul stops abruptly. He searches, looks for the answer, and comes up with nothing. “Think, Maul. What’s the last thing you remember?”

He stares at the ground. He cannot remember. He was on Coruscant—no, no, he was sent to—to— He blinks, shakes his head and clenches his hands into fists.

“Maul,” the man calls. “What’s the la—”

He stops listening and glances around. Apart from a chair, he cannot lift _anything._ The table, even the bed—they are not bolted to the floor; they are part of the floor. The chair will break against the energy field. Next to the bed, there is a disk, the only piece of equipment bolted to the floor. A similar one stands above it, bolted to the ceiling. A containment field. Clearly, they knew who he was when they brought him here. 

“Who are you?” he growls. The man looks at him but says nothing. Maul grows frustrated. “You will answer me,” he demands.

“I don’t have to,” the man mutters, voice subdued. “And you don’t have to answer my questions either.”

Maul tilts his head. He puts his hands behind his back. “Release me,” he commands. The man shakes his head.

“I can’t do that. You’ll kill me the second you’re free.”

He grins. “Then let us fight. We shall see who prevails.”

The man frowns. For a long moment, he stays silent, his eyes roaming over Maul’s face. “I don’t want to fight you,” he says. He seems conflicted by his own words. “There’s no need to fight you anymore.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. “There’s no right way to say this.” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds and releases it. “What year is it?”

“7945,” he says.

“Year two after the ReSynchronization?” At Maul’s lack of answer, he nods. “Alright. The invasion of Naboo was a year after,” he mutters. “So you’re, what—twenty? Twenty-two?” He does not reply. The man does not need to know that Maul himself is not sure how old he exactly is. The man snorts. “Heh. I look older than you, now.”

Maul scowls but says nothing. It is a convoluted scheme that lacks refinement. If the man imagines he will believe him at face value then he is even more foolish than he thought.

The man leaves after that. Maul stalks around the cell. 

  
  
  


After almost two hours, if his calculations are correct, an architect droid enters the bay, protected by the energy field. It is not a series he recognises but he can tell it is heavily modified. Architect droids do not have reinforced cuirasses. It is holding food. It takes a couple of steps then stands in front of the energy field. Another one is activated behind it. The closest to Maul is turned off. The droid puts the food down in front of it. The field is back on, food on his side and the droid on the other. Maul stares at it but makes no move for the food. The second energy field is deactivated. The droid steps away.

It gestures to the holotable behind it then bows. “I am K4-5P1 but you can call me Cas. I will help you access the HoloNet.”

Maul looks at it, unimpressed. He ignores it. He takes off the tunic they put him in, sits on the ground and meditates. He feels unbalanced. There is no doubt left now—his connection to the Force has been severed. How… he knows not but the fact remains. Acknowledging it feels like cutting off a limb; he feels phantom pain where usually there should be strength and power. His hunger has not receded, however. He will get out. He will kill the man swiftly then he will find the female and kill her as well. Their kills will be but meager replacements; Maul knows he will not know rest until he gets his revenge.

  
  
  


When he opens his eyes again, several hours have passed. Maul hates waiting but patience is so deeply ingrained now that he knows there is a difference between wasting time and planning. The man is standing in front of him, tucked safely behind the energy field. Maul observes him silently.

“We figured you’re carnivorous but feel free to tell us if you’re not,” the man says. When he receives no response, he shrugs. “You can ask questions, you know.”

To what end? Anything he says could be a lie. Maul is a prisoner; he has no way of knowing whether the man is truthful or not. He closes his eyes again, rolls his neck and relaxes his shoulders. When he opens them back, the lights are set on low. Night cycle. Chances are he is in a ship—gravity is too easy on his bones. No matter which planet he sets foot on, gravity never suits his body. Coruscant’s is too low. Malachor’s is too high. Artificial gravity, on the other hand, always adapts perfectly.

There is something very wrong with him. He should have noticed the artificial gravity much earlier. His severed connection to the Force is unrelated. Maul is better than this. He was trained in the arts of the Sith. He is Darth Sidious’ apprentice. Once again, he is consumed by fear.

  
  
  


For several cycles, he does not sleep. He does not interact with anything.

  
  
  


Once again, the architect droid comes in with food. Hunger is clawing at him. Perhaps it is better to play along with his captors. If he gains their trust, escape will be faster. If not their trust—at least, he can create a bridge. A connection that will allow him to use them. “Show me the invasion of Naboo,” he demands. The droid does.

Maul reads about the blockade. He watches young Queen Amidala pleading before the Senate. _If this body is not capable of action, I suggest new leadership is needed. I move for a Vote of No Confidence in Chancellor Valorum's leadership,_ she declares, striking and dignified. He can see his Master’s hand in this, guesses which result is expected. This game is well-made; were it not for his current situation, he would almost believe it.

“Show me Count Dooku,” he demands right after. The droid does.

A fallen Jedi. How ironic. Consumed by greed, it appears. Hypocritical, of all things; they are so adamant about suppressing their emotions that these are not what condemns them. No, Jedi are subpar beings believing themselves to be superior to the masses. Yet the evidence stands out—they can be corrupted. They are not immune to the call of their base desires. His hands clench into fists, anger surging through him. Their desires will be their downfall. They will be eventually dragged down by their own lies and Maul will be there—waiting for them.

He takes notice of the dates. Most of the information at hand dates back to Year Thirteen. Allegedly a decade after Queen Amidala’s speech. The game becomes interesting. 

A war is to begin in ten years. A war designed and controlled by his Master. Count Dooku is but a mere puppet whose strings are held by the same one who leads the other side. It is an elegant plan. Unfortunate that Maul does not believe in it in the slightest. Whoever they are–whoever designed this–know more than they should. He must escape. He is not privy to his Master’s grand plan but this simulation could be closer to the truth than he would like it to be. He can almost see his Master's hand in this. 

  
  
  
  


Two cycles later, curiosity makes him speak. “Show me—” Maul begins but falls silent. He should not indulge in this. It is likely that they planned for it. He clenches his jaw, frustration swelling.

“Would you like to know more about yourself?” the droid asks. He darts his eyes at the question, looks down and away quickly. He feels the urge to chastise himself for it. He knows who he is. He knows what he is. It is enough. The droid must take his silence for confirmation; he is suddenly met with a multitude of holos of himself.

He looks older. His legs are made of metal.

“Impossible,” he mutters. Most of the files appear to be corrupted, as if someone took great pain in destroying them but someone else decided to recover the scraps. More than a dozen of them situate him on Mandalore—the planet of the governing weak, where once stood glory and now, in its stead, a pathetic gallery of stooges who believe _nonviolence_ can resolve matters. “You try to deceive me.”

Then—something catches his eyes. “Who is this,” he says, pointing at the holo. 

The man enters the room at this exact moment, his face set in stone. Maul gives him a narrow look. His eyes follow him as he walks around the holotable, placing himself next to the holo. He crosses his arms, jaw clenching. Maul tilts his head at this.

“He was the Jedi Master sent to Naboo,” the man declares. Disgust appears on his face. “You killed him.”

Pleasure courses through his veins; Maul shivers. He bares his teeth in a vicious grin, a spike of annoyance when the man does not react. He allegedly killed a Jedi—not a Padawan. A Jedi Master. At last—a taste of revenge.

The man’s mouth twitches, neither a smile nor a grimace. “You lost right after.”

Maul growls, staring him down. “No,” he snarls. He starts pacing. The man watches silently. He spits with vehemence, “ _Liar_.”

His fingers faintly tremble—oh, how he wishes he could destroy him. His hearts drum more quickly; the blood pumping inside his veins singing to him. He wants to play with the man. He wants to have him run, try to escape, knowing he will not survive. Maul wants to rip him apart.

“You were defeated,” the man says, voice calm and betraying nothing. “The Padawan cut you in half and left you to rot with the garbage.”

Maul takes the chair and throws it at the energy field. The man does not react. He leaves him seething and yelling on his own. The droid does not come back.

  
  
  


The man is here two cycles later.

  
  
  


“Quinlan Vos and Aayla Secura,” Maul says. The man says nothing. “Which one did I kill?”

“Neither,” he replies. His eyes narrow. Where is the lie? It cannot be the kill in itself—the reaction was too visceral for it to be a lie. No. He tilts his head.

“Tell me their names,” Maul commands. The man watches him but stays silent. “I want to know their names.” The one he killed and the one who killed him. 

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” he replies. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Maul repeats, tasting the names on his tongue. He feels nothing. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“They’re both dead. All the Jedi are dead,” the man mutters. He turns on the holotable. “Show him Order 66.”

There, before his eyes, is his Master. _Commander Cody,_ he says, _the time has come. Execute Order 66._

_It will be done, my lord,_ a disembodied voice replies. Then—footage of a war, thousands of Jedi killed in cold blood; surveillance holovids from their temple, younglings and adults alike slaughtered like animals by faceless soldiers and, in their midst, a man draped in black. It is not his Master.

Maul watches as his revenge unfolds in a matter of minutes before his eyes. He is nowhere to be seen.

“You won,” the man concludes, turning off the holotable after having witnessed a genocide. “How does that make you feel?”

Nothing. Maul feels _nothing._ “Deception,” he retorts, a bitter taste on his tongue. “I will take pleasure in killing you.”

The man leaves after that. 

  
  
  


Maul paces in his cell, repeating the names over and over and over. _Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon Jinn._ He mutters under his breath, familiarising himself with the way their names roll on his tongue. _Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan Kenobi._ He repeats them again and again, expecting change.

Kenobi. Jinn. Their names mean nothing.

It occurs to him, after hours of restless pacing, that he would not be obsessed if he truly believed the man to be deceiving him. Yet he feels that the names should mean _something._ They do not.

He looks at the food. He has not eaten anything since he woke up here. He has not truly fallen asleep either. He is not hungry. He can still function. He sits down and meditates, knowing that with patience will come his reward.

“I’m beginning to think you don’t like my cooking,” the man says, a couple of hours after the end of the night cycle. “I’m told it’s not so bad.”

Maul opens his eyes, watching him, but says nothing. The man is leaning against the wall, in front of the food left by the droid, the energy field between them. Maul smiles.

“Are you going to retrieve it?” he asks conversationally. The man snorts and raises an eyebrow.

“If I do, will you attack me?” 

Maul watches him but says nothing. The man cocks his head and frowns. He pushes himself off the wall and nods.

“Activate the second field,” he says. Maul’s eyes narrow.

“Captain,” a voice says from the comm system. It is the female’s. Are there only two people on board?

“Do it,” the man—the _captain_ says. The second field is turned on, shimmering before disappearing from view. Maul’s blood sings; he has to stop himself from pouncing.

“Are you—”

“Yes,” the captain says, jaw clenched. “Do it.”

The energy field goes down. Fool. Maul jumps.

He is thrown to the other side of the cell before he can understand what is happening. He feels a surge of pain in his back. He blinks, uncomprehending.

“Your mind remembers but your body doesn't,” the captain says, walking towards him. “You need to reclaim it.”

Maul bares his teeth and goes for his throat. _Reclaim it._ Oh, this will be entertaining.

“The choice was yours,” he reminds him, the rage and hunger fuel for his strength. He gets up, circles the captain, his eyes trailing over him, assessing, calculating. “I will enjoy killing you.”

Maul’s movements are slow. Something is wrong. He should be faster than this, even with hunger clawing at him. He has fought in more dire situations, during trials in which his Master pushed him to his limits, trying to see if he had any. No, something else is at play. The captain is _good,_ there is no denying it, but, even without the Force, he should be able to gain advantage. Every strike is parried, every kick dodged, every attack countered. Maul’s body is rebelling. He does not have a tight control over it; his limbs are weaker, slower to respond to his command. All of his reflexes are gone. He grows frustrated with himself.

What purpose does his body have if he cannot use it—

The captain swings him over his shoulder then proceeds to push him on the ground. He immobilises him easily. Maul thrashes, panic and fear taking over.

“Are you done?” Despite the question itself, there is no judgment in his voice. Maul scowls. The captain sits back on his heels, assessing. 

“Physically you’re in perfect shape but your body needs to learn again,” he says conversationally. He gets up, as if they were merely sparring. “We could work on that.” He extends a hand towards him. Maul stares. He rolls on his side and gets up on his own. The captain shakes his head but does not comment on it.

He turns away and starts leaving. Without thinking, Maul takes a step towards him. The captain stills but does not turn back. Maul waits. For a long moment, neither of them moves. Eventually he steps back and lets the captain leave. 

His eyes trail over his own arms. They are unblemished—no scars to be found. There should be dozens. He finds none. How come he did not notice earlier?

  
  
  


The captain comes back two cycles later.

  
  
  


“I am not myself,” Maul states. “I am the contingency plan.”

The captain watches him. After a long moment spent in silence, he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think so,” he admits, his mouth twitching again in this movement that is neither a smile nor a grimace. Maul does not understand its meaning. “It would explain a lot.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “We could run tests, to be sure. If you want.”

Maul huffs. There is little doubt tests have already been done before he was conscious. This little game is pointless. “Show me the results.”

The captain frowns. “The results for what?”

He seethes. “Am I a clone?” he growls. “You already know. Do not waste my time.”

“We don’t,” the captain says, voice gone cold. “You want to know? We’ll do what we can to find out. You don’t want to know—then that’s it. It’s not our choice to make.”

Maul watches him intently, trying to discern the lies in his words. He says nothing.

“You don’t seem surprised,” the captain observes. “Did you know you—” he gestures with his hand vaguely at him but does not say anything more. Maul averts his gaze, staring at the holotable. He is not surprised his Master thought of a contingency plan should he die before he served his purpose. He is not surprised he was not made aware either. He does not know how he feels about it.

“It was a likely possibility,” he says.

After a long moment spent in silence, the captain walks to the energy field. The second field is turned on, then the first goes down. He picks up the untouched plate then steps away. The fields are turned on and off. “Cas will bring you fresh food,” he says, leaving Maul to think.

He sits down and adopts a meditative stance to stop himself from pacing. He has to reassess his plan. Escape may be more… difficult to achieve. It enrages him. He comes to the realisation that he has lost everything. His connection to the Force. Years of training. The modicum of freedom he had. He has even lost his own self.

Being unable to vent his anger, his hatred, rage and loathing is all too familiar. Maul longs for freedom, for revenge—

If what he learned is true, then Maul lost _everything._ Now there remains nothing. 

Exhaustion overtakes him; he falls asleep, his body refusing to bend to his will. He does not recollect any dream afterwards but his muscles feel strained and his joints ache as much as they usually do after one of his Master’s more physical trials. 

  
  
  


When he opens his eyes, the captain is already here. He tenses immediately. He is not looking at him; he is watching something on the holotable. Maul stands up silently, careful not to be seen. There is already food in his cell—the droid came in. He never noticed. The sight of his failure sits heavy on his stomach, killing his hunger. He clenches his fists and lets his eyes trail over to where the captain stands.

He is reading something. Maul cannot see what. 

“Do you plan on saying hello at all?” the captain asks, without looking his way. He receives no answer. He keeps reading. After a couple of minutes spent in silence, he sighs. “Good morning to you too, then.”

His stomach growls. Loudly. The captain cocks his head but does not turn around. Maul stares at his traitorous body. He picks up the food anyway and perches on top of the table, observing the man silently. He takes a bite of the meat. He has to stop himself from making a sound. It is… good. He did not expect it would be spicy. It is extremely spicy. His nostrils flare. He has to swallow down a cough. He puts his fist in front of his mouth. He should not react as such. It is not the first time he eats something spic—

Or is it. A bitter taste invades his sensitive taste buds. He takes another bite, scowling. He closes his eyes. 

“Fierfek,” he hears the captain say under his breath. “I completely forgot your body isn’t used to spicy food anymore.”

That word, _anymore,_ wakes something in him. Suddenly he is enraged. “Anymore,” he spits, voice low. When he glances upwards, the holotable is turned off. The captain is leaning against it, watching him with a hard look on his face. 

“It was a poor choice of words.”

Maul rolls his eyes and huffs, looking away. He takes another bite out of spite. His mouth protests. He does not care. He hears the captain sigh but refuses to acknowledge him. He finishes his plate. The food is fresh. If they truly are on a ship, this means they resupplied not long before he woke up.

“You know, if you hit the panel on your right, there’s a refresher behind it,” the captain says, gesturing with his hand. Maul cocks his head. He presses on the panel. A door opens, leading to what looks like a ‘fresher. He has never seen a shower like this before. He stares at the captain, walks inside and pointedly closes the door. Once he is on his own, he stops himself from cursing. He has no clothes except the pants he is wearing. He also has no idea how any of the things in here work. He scowls, undresses quickly and steps inside the shower. He pushes the biggest button. 

Water falls from the ceiling. He jerks back. 

At once, Maul is hit with a vision of being plunged into water. The sky above him is red; he is laughing. His voice sounds strange—high pitched and smaller. His entire frame feels smaller. There are hands, yellow hands, as big as his head is. One is holding him so his head stays above the water while the other splashes some on his face. Maul laughs. He has never heard himself laugh like this before. _Stop moving, you little rancor,_ someone says above him, a rumbling voice that betrays a laugh. Maul sees his own tiny hands splashing around, uncaring. He is let go; he does flutter kicks to swim away but a giant hand settles on his abdomen and he is pulled out of the water. Maul gasps, suddenly swung back to the present. He is on the floor, shaking, and there is water coming out of the shower. He has trouble breathing. He has no idea why. 

He stares at his body. There are no scars. It is perfectly formed and unblemished. It is not his body. He cannot breathe. He tries to but this body betrays him, refusing. 

He stays like that for a long time, trying to breathe air into his lungs and stopping his limbs from shaking. The water keeps flowing in front of him. He does not understand what is happening or what happened—he never remembered his life before he became his Master’s apprentice. And there is no doubt this was a memory from before; Maul was too small for it to be anything else. He does not understand why he remembers this _now._ It serves no purpose—he cannot even remember who was with him. Even if he did, the information is useless. It will not help him escape.

He does not move for what could be hours or only a couple of minutes. When he finally does, he steps under the water, lets it flow on his skin and stays frozen, staring at the wall in front of him. Is this the first time this body has water running over it? Is it not? How many like him have there been? Is he the first one—the only one?

He pushes the button again, cutting off the running water. He pushes the one below. There. Sonic. He will know not to touch the other one again now. He steps out and leaves the refresher, picking up his pants but not bothering to put them on. Once he is outside, he hears the captain curse.

“Can’t you warn a brother!” he exclaims loudly, turning so his back is facing him. Maul huffs. 

“If it bothers you, you may leave,” he says. He takes a closer look at the walls. One of them seems to have what he suspects to be compartments. He pushes on it and, indeed, it opens to a hidden one in which there are clothes. He wagers they are all his size. He takes the first ones he sees, puts the tunic on then a pair of pants. He starts walking around the cell, observing the captain, who is still looking away. It takes at least a full minute but he eventually sneaks a glance. His face makes some kind of expression Maul does not understand then he sits back against the holotable, like he did before, and crosses his arms.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the captain asks. Maul stands still, head tilted, and decides to take the question into consideration.

“Unsure,” he replies. “The coronation of Queen Amidala was two standard months ago.” He thinks. It may have been earlier.

The captain nods. “Were you spying on her?” Maul smiles but does not reply. Truth is, he was not. He just saw her face on a holofeed while gathering information. He will not tell him that, however; he does not need to know. After an entire minute spent in silence, the captain shakes his head and snorts, a quick grin flashing on his face. Maul’s eyes narrow. His fists clench.

“Do you recognize my face?” the captain asks.

Maul's muscles tense, a reaction he cannot control. Should he? Does he know him? Was he a target or an associate? He stops himself from pacing. He has the unpleasant sensation of being at war with his body—usually, he would have had to stop his hand from automatically reaching for his saberstaff. He does not have to, now. The realisation throws him off, _again._ He takes a step backwards and puts a hand over his mouth, the unexpected need to vomit overtaking him. The captain takes a useless step towards him and Maul recoils when he does. Shame and anger heavy on his mind, he has to run to the refresher to empty the content of his stomach. He stays on the ground for a long time, dry heaving. His body convulses, even when he grits his teeth and tries to control it. He growls in frustrated rage. Maul tries to get up but his legs fail him; he falls down on the ground. He feels humiliated. He waits for the shakes to pass. They do not.

A hand settles on his shoulder. He stills, fear encompassing him. His mind is reeling, forcing him _not_ to move—if he does, if he recoils, if he flinches, shows the tiniest amount of weakness, the punishment will be worse. He bows his head in submission and waits. 

“Maul,” a voice says above him and he grits his teeth, muscles tensing despite himself. “Look at me. Look at _me._ ” He does, raising his head at the command. It is the captain.

Of course it is the captain. He averts his gaze. Who else could it be?

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me, Maul.” Reluctantly, his eyes glance back but his body tries to move away. The hand on his shoulder does not budge. He should push it away. He should take it in his own hand and break it. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for. If he attacks the captain now, he will have the advantage. 

The hand lets go of him to hover over his shoulder. Maul’s eyes follow it, his body ready to pounce.

“He’s not here,” he says. Maul, confused, blinks and his eyes slide to the captain’s face. He does not understand his expression. He tilts his head, trying from another angle. It is not anger. He is not smiling; it cannot be happiness. Perhaps— 

The captain’s thumb brushes against his cheek. Maul’s eyes widen.

Suddenly he bolts away, hearts drumming in his chest in a frantic rhythm. His breathing quickens; there is nothing he can do to stop it. He does not understand. What was the captain trying to accomplish? What was he looking for? A weakness? Surely he must know he should have pressed on the bone harder—

“I’m sorry,” the captain says, getting up and avoiding his gaze. “I shouldn’t have.”

He leaves Maul on his own without another word. For a long moment, he does not move, staring at the ground. He does not understand. He should have reacted differently. He should have attacked him. His body should have tensed and readied itself for a strike. Instead, his first reaction had been incomprehensible, forcing him to retreat. He wants to forget the memory. He wants to revisit it, again and again. Even more baffling, he wants the captain to do that again. He plants his nails in the meat of his thighs, urging himself to move. It does not work. His fingers brush against his cheek, where the captain’s did earlier. He recoils from the touch almost immediately.

He tries to meditate. He stays focused for less than a couple of minutes before he thinks about it again. Eventually, his body betrays him—he collapses from exhaustion.

  
  
  


The following cycle he is left on his own. The droid comes to bring him food. It is not spicy. He hates it with his entire being.

“What year is it,” he asks the droid.

“36,” it responds.

“After the ReSynchronization?”

“Year Seventy-two, then. 8011 CRC; 36 according to the Galactic calendar. This dating system uses the Battle of Yavin as its zero year. It is the most common calendar in use,” it says then waves its hand dismissively. “Not that you’d know, of course.”

Maul glares. The droid does not seem affected in the slightest. They spend a long time staring at one another in silence.

“No questions about the Battle of Yavin?” the droid asks with disappointment. “I imagined you would be more curious.”

“How so?”

“I would have been. If I suddenly woke up half a century later, I would like to know what I missed,” it comments. “Organics are less logical. I suspect it is due to your biological imperatives.”

Maul blinks and has to stop himself from scoffing. “Was that supposed to be insulting?”

“It could be,” she replies. “Was it?”

He does not say anything. He decides to ignore her. He takes off his tunic and warms up his ligaments. He needs to test out his limits. He has the muscle mass but he may have lost his flexibility. He already lost his reflexes. It is not far-fetched to assume he lost even more. Since he cannot work on lightsaber forms, hand-to-hand will have to do. 

  
  
  


The cycles go on to evolve into some kind of routine. Maul wakes up or rises from meditation, practices kata until his body cannot take much more, then takes a shower. What happens afterwards depends on whether he is alone or not. Most cycles the captain is there, either trying to talk to him or focused on the holotable. Conversations are stilted at best. Maul does not trust him, nor what he tells him. He has no idea what year it truly is. He could be living in another century or Queen Amidala could still be the acting monarch on Naboo. For all he knows, everything he has been told could either be the truth or a series of lies. Even more, he still has the lingering feeling that this all just yet another one of his Master’s trials.

Maul grows restless. He knows he needs time to plan his escape. Unfortunately, he does not seem to come anywhere close to something resembling an opportunity.

That is, until the captain asks, “Do you want to spar?”

Maul stills at his words. It is not unusual for the captain to make conversation for the two of them. Sometimes when he trains, the man will be commenting on what he is looking at or searching for, eyes focused on the holotable. He never asks but he is beginning to think the captain may not be as young as he appears. When he and Cas are in the room, the droid often sends dry comments about the captain’s outdated knowledge when it comes to new technologies. 

“The MSE-4 haven’t been in use since the fall of the Empire, captain,” she says one day when they enter the room, in the middle of what looks like an argument. “Just like you.”

“That’s harsh, Cas.”

“Isn’t it the truth?”

Maul never asks about this comment but he thinks about it from time to time. Right now, with the captain suggesting to spar, he wonders who the person standing in front of him truly is. He has an inkling that his title has nothing to do with the ship.

The captain watches him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not the only one getting restless, you know.” He leans against the holotable, legs crossed, with a challenging glint in his eyes. So much arrogance. Maul will take satisfaction in putting him in his place. 

“Very well,” he says and there is something feral in the captain’s responding smile.

What happens next is something unexpected. Instead of walking forward between the two energy fields, the captain says, “Alright, take it down.” 

For a long moment, none of them moves. The energy field is down. Maul stares at the captain, eyes narrowed. He waits. He is not stupid enough to try to step out of his cell without knowing what is happening. There must be something else. It cannot be this easy.

The captain stands straight, gesturing at the door. “There are mats in the other room. It’s also bigger.” He leaves without another glance back. The door stays open after his exit. Maul stiffens. He stands still for a full minute, until the captain comes back, one eyebrow raised. “Are you coming or not?”

Maul scowls. The captain shakes his head and makes a gesture at him to come over. He huffs but takes a couple of steps, until he has both energy fields behind him. Nothing happens. He looks at the door. From what he sees, the captain has not lied. There are mats and little else. One thing is certain—he is definitely on a ship since there is an emergency magseal button next to the door closest to him and another one next to the door on the other side of the room. He has never seen a structure entirely similar to this one; it appears to be something more advanced than what he is used to. Possibly still in the experimental phase. This is not convenient. His escape may be even more complicated. 

He stalks to the other room where the captain is waiting. He circles him without saying anything. The captain smiles and lets him. 

Maul springs at him without warning. It is a flurry of kicks, punches and jumps. The captain deflects all of his attacks and sends some of his own. Maul bares his teeth in excitement. He appears to be a formidable opponent. 

“What? You thought you were the only one with fighting skills?” The captain smirks. “I was born to fight. I trained my entire life for it. I’m not Force-sensitive but I know how to fight with your kind.” A sharp grimace graces his features. Maul goes still. “I was made for this.” He flips him over the mats in a quick move, standing up while Maul tries to find his footing. He rubs his hands together as if to take invisible dirt off them. 

“Made to fight Force users?” Maul asks while circling him.

The captain’s fists clench. He averts his gaze—an opportunity. Maul does not take it. Better to wait and see. His whole stance subtly changes; he becomes sharper but also unbalanced. Maul never thought his question would throw him off as such. Perhaps he found an exploitable weakness.

“No,” the captain says, eyes slowly sliding towards him. Suddenly it feels like the air changes; Maul’s body readies itself for an attack. “I was made to kill Jedi.”

The news is so unexpected he stumbles. The captain takes advantage of it and blocks him on the mats, once again. They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before Maul understands the captain is waiting for him to yield.

“I’m no Jedi killer,” the man states, face set in stone.

“What are you, then?”

“Whoever I want to be,” he replies. Maul averts his gaze. The captain gets up and extends his hand. He does not take it. This time, when he circles him, the captain does not stand still. He copies his pace so they end up walking in a circle, assessing each other. Maul has to suppress shivers. The more he observes him, the more he sees that the captain is more than meets the eye. He needs to reassess the situation. Rather than try to best him, he has to learn about him—his technique, his tells, his habits, which side he favours, everything. He needs to know his enemy.

Rather than attack, he waits. The captain smirks when he notices. 

“Changing tactics?” he teases. He narrows his eyes but does not respond. He has an inkling the captain is not one to use wit as a weapon but perhaps he is mistaken. 

This time, Maul is not the one to attack first. The motions do not come as naturally as they should but, at least, his body responds to command. At least. _At least_ is not sufficient. It is not enough—he must strive for more. His frustration grows and with it he loses patience. It takes him more time than it should but he notices the captain is holding himself back. It is in the way he twists and turns—faltering with momentum, jerks and twitches clashing with his form. He is purposely undermining himself; it enrages Maul more than anything else.

“Why are you holding back?” he snarls with a mean kick to his shins. The captain easily dodges it, the question not taking all of his focus. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he answers, panting, taking a step back, putting… _whatever this is_ on hold. “We’re sparring, Maul. You need to take,” he gestures at him with a circling motion, “this for a spin. You’re all shiny, now—you got to learn again.”

“ _Learn,_ ” he spits vehemently. “I do not need a teacher. I do not need you to—”

The captain laughs; it is sudden, as if he cannot control it. He puts a hand in front of his mouth and his eyes look to the side. “I’m not teaching you; I’m helping you out.” His hand comes between them as if it could physically stop him from talking. “You’ll get faster results that way.” 

“I do not need your help.”

“You don’t but I’m giving it anyway,” he replies with a shrug. “Come on.” He kicks him without preamble. Maul bares his teeth. He kicks him again. And again. And again. The same kick, each and every time. A repetitive motion—one that Maul counters each time in the same way. It is effective; he knows it is but the fact that the captain suggested it makes him suspicious. What has he to gain? Maul does not understand. It has become evident the captain is the better opponent between them as of now; surely he is not trying to learn his technique. He does not need to see him train to know he will win. Experience will win over whatever training regiment Maul will follow.

He plays along and, for the rest of the session, words are not needed. It does not stop him from wondering what is really happening here or why he feels like whatever plan the captain has for him may come to fruition whereas his own is becoming more and more distant as time passes.

When they are both lying down on the mats, the captain turns his head and looks at him. Maul does not understand the expression on his face so he averts his gaze. He sits back up, arms on his knees and tries to get his breathing under control.

“We could do this again,” the captain says. “It’s up to you.” He stands up and walks to the door Maul has potentially not access to. The captain leans next to it and says, “Cas?” The door opens. It leads to a ladder. “We’re not putting the energy fields back up. You have access to this room and the holotable whenever you want.” 

He leaves without waiting for a responding comment. The door closes right after him. Maul approaches it slowly. Fully automated with no access panel. It seems too convenient to be a coincidence. He goes to his refresher without waiting. They may give him more space but he is still a prisoner. He will not give them an opportunity to congratulate themselves by exploring. He turns on the sonic and takes a closer look at his legs. He has yet to ask more about his original self. He has the sudden urge to touch them, to make sure they are real. He resists said urge. He will not trust what they tell him until he has proof. He steps out of the sonic and goes to find clothes. He lets the dirty ones in the refresher, knowing fully well Cas will complain about it. He is halfway dressed when the droid arrives with food.

“You do it on purpose,” she says walking to his cell. “I told you there is a compartment right here. You don’t listen.”

Maul stares at her silently and puts on a new shirt. 

“I am not allowed to hit you,” she comments. He hums. “Unless you hit me first.”

“Do you want me to hit you?”

“I am considering it,” she says. She walks to the opposite side of the room to put the food on the ground and stares at him pointedly. “From now on, I can even put it in the other room.” 

Maul huffs but says nothing. He picks up his plate while she turns the holotable on. He perches on the bolted table next to it to observe her.

“We should learn about the Empire today,” she states. He loathes when she does this—give him so-called history lessons about the past fifty years. Maul has not come to a conclusion on this yet. He may be living in a new millennium now—or he is simply tricked into believing it. “Don’t scowl. It is important; for thirty years, your master ruled over the galaxy.”

This—this piques his interest. Cas turns the lights off. Multiple holos appear. In most of them stands his Master. “Emperor Palpatine.” She points at him. He looks different. His face is scarred almost beyond recognition. As ridiculous as it might be, Maul still tenses while looking at him. “This was his apprentice.”

Every holos are replaced by a single one—what appears to be a recorded conversation. Someone in a mask. Their breathing sounds distinctly mechanical. Their voice is not his own.

_The Jedi Knights are all but destroyed. And yet, your task is not complete, Inquisitor. The Emperor has foreseen a new threat rising against him: the children of the Force. They must not become Jedi._

“His apprentice,” he mutters, feeling oddly empty. Cas turns to him.

“Darth Vader.”

He puts the plate down, jumps off the table and starts pacing. His hands are shaking. He must keep them under control. Darth Vader. “Darth Vader,” he repeats out loud. He can feel anger slowly growing inside him. “His _apprentice_ Darth Vader.”

“Yes,” she says, uncaring of his sudden outburst. “He succeeded Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku?” he snarls. “The fallen _Jedi_? You _lie._ ” He throws his plate on the nearest wall. Of course, it does not break. Cas seems entirely unaffected. 

“So was Darth Vader. He used to be Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Padawan before he fell to the dark side.”

“Kenobi,” he growls. The one who defeated him. It cannot be. If it is all true, then where was he? Was he dead already? If not—what happened? What did he do for his master to abandon him?

The captain comes in. Seething, Maul tenses, ready to fight in the blink of an eye. “Cas,” the captain warns, not looking at him. He turns the holotable off without preamble. There are droplets of water running down his neck. “He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does,” she argues. “Coddling him is useless. He’s not a child. He needs to learn quickly.”

The captain says something in a language Maul does not understand. The droid raises one hand dismissively. “Insults. How mature of you.” 

“Who is Darth Vader?” Maul asks. At the name, the captain tenses. Maul narrows his eyes. “Who is Darth Vader,” he repeats, walking towards him. “Tell me.”

The captain recoils abruptly, back straight and shoulders tense. His hands are clenching and unclenching until he crosses his arms over his chest. Maul takes a step towards him. “He killed my Jedi,” he mutters, anger evident in his voice.

“Darth Vader _was_ your Jedi, captain,” Cas says. “He couldn’t—”

“No,” he cuts her off harshly. “That—” he points at the hologram, “—wasn't my general. He would never—”

“But he did.”

“No!” he shouts. He takes a step back and turns away, head hunched, taking a deep breath. “Cas is right,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “You deserve to know.” He goes to turn to the holotable on and brushes his arm in the process. Maul stops himself from flinching away. He is certain this was deliberate—the captain raised his hand and grazed his skin with the back of his fingers. Is this a tactic made to undermine his concentration? What was he trying to gain? “The creation of the Empire led to the end of the war,” he says. “We won. In a sense.”

What he says afterwards, Maul does not know. He stopped listening. He kept staring at the captain’s hand, trying to decipher what was the meaning of… whatever he did. It must have been at least ten minutes since he stopped listening but the captain seems to be nowhere near done with his explanation of an empire Maul has never seen and never will. He does not care. If what they say is true, it will not change matters for him nor will it have any influence on who he is. This empire has been built without him—if he was not his Master’s apprentice then he was nothing. Perhaps he was dead already. Or, at least, the original was. Which brings the question as to why _he_ would not have been chosen. If his master favoured someone else–two people–over him then he must have failed miserably. He does not know what happened. Perhaps this is the meaning of this test.

“Where was I?” he asks in the middle of yet another long explanation. The captain raises an eyebrow, surely understanding now that Maul listened to nothing he said.

“When the Empire fell or before?” He says nothing, letting the captain decide. “Your last known location was on Mandalore, right before the Jedi genocide. After that, it is mostly based on rumors. According to some of the rebels at the time, you spent a couple of years on Malachor and potentially died on Tatooine. We’re not sure.”

Malachor. The chances of him staying on Malachor for years are low if it was of his own choosing. No. He must have been stranded there. 

“If that makes you happy,” Cas begins, “There’s a high chance you were being hunted by Darth Vader himself.” 

He nods. Hunted. He has confirmation, then. He had no part in his Master’s plan. 

It seems his original self was discarded. Just like he was. How fitting.

“Your master abandoned you,” she says.

“I am aware,” he replies. “Otherwise I would not be here.” He walks back to his cell, ignoring them both, sits on the floor next to his bed and closes his eyes, feigning meditation until he cannot hear them anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: body dysphoria, dissociation, homicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, panic attack.
> 
> plugging the discord once again—[come join us](https://discord.gg/Awqc2FB)!


	3. Ilum

The hologram of Rex appears. General Dameron flashes a smile. In a matter of seconds it feels like the whole room can finally breathe. He is alive. They weren’t so sure about that. Their General said he was okay but Rex willingly locked himself up with a Sith. His survival was not fully guaranteed.

“Generals,” he greets with a smile. “I thought Dameron was supposed to be our only contact with the outside world.”

“Oh, he is,” their General says. “I’m not here right now. None of us are.” Rex laughs; it makes them all want to smile, feeling like they got what they wanted. Their General grins.

“How’s your guest?” General Dameron says. “I’m assuming both of you are fine?”

“We are,” he says and there’s someone else’s hand appearing next to him, waving. “She’s fixing one of the fake trees. She’ll talk to you after that.”

“What?” General Dameron exclaims. His smile freezes. “They’re not working?”

Rex shakes his head. “They are. We just got a surprise—that’s all.” He winces. “Turns out one of them… wasn’t on her own.”

“There’s a baby? Please tell me there's no baby.” Rex stays silent. General Dameron gasps. “You’re gonna have a baby!”

“Yeah, well, we’re trying. It’s still an egg right now but we should be ready when the hatchling comes out.”

They exchange pleasantries for a while. They all know why. It has been a standard month now since they woke him up. No one has had contact with the ship ever since; the astromech was sent with food and supplies to last them for a couple of months and will go back in one standard month. Between these supply runs, they won’t be able to talk to anyone outside the ship. General Dameron’s time is precious but, when he volunteered to be their contact, no one protested. He has this kind of presence that makes everyone seek him out. Every time he comes here, the base is happier and, if he brings bad news, it is hard not to think everything will be fine because he’s here. He makes their General happy. It’s all that matters, really. If he wants to talk about everything and nothing pertaining to their mission with Rex, then no one will try to stop him.

“How is he?” their General asks after a couple of minutes. The whole room seems quieter.

Rex does not fidget. It looks like he’s really trying not to.

“He thinks this is all Palpatine’s doing,” he admits, voice tight. “He’s in perfect shape but he lost everything except for his memories.”

“Well, we knew it was a possibility,” General Dameron says, sighing. “Think he doesn’t want to see the truth? I don’t really blame him.”

Rex shakes his head.

“No, no… It’s deeper than that. I think he’s been trained by Palpatine his entire life. I’m not sure he’s known anything else.” He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “We just need to show him there’s another way. It’s as simple as that.”

“How long do you think this is gonna take?”

“Years, maybe.” He huffs. “This is just the beginning. Once he’s out, there’s no telling what’ll happen. We have to be careful.” He falls silent after that.

The Generals don’t tell him about their side of things. It’s only been a month but the word got out. Some of the older senators remember this particular Sith; to say they’re highly skeptical is an understatement. Even more, the Mandalorians want him—or his head, at least. Their General has been putting out fires after fires. He doesn’t really like politics and it shows; the problem is General Dameron is even worse at it than he is so they don’t really have a choice. The others, those who were on the right side during the war, claim that Rey is the diplomatic one out of the three; unfortunately, she’s gone AWOL. Their General says she is going to come back but it’s been months now. They try to have faith for him but it is becoming increasingly difficult. At least General Dameron has faith for them all.

A week ago, some of them suggested something their General did not like. It happens sometimes; they say things that are normal for them but the spies and the medics look at them oddly when they do. “We don’t recondition anyone,” their General had said. No one protested, even though they knew it would make things easier. “What they did to you was bad,” General Dameron had said. No one really understands what he meant by that but they don't say it because the engineers stare at them all day when they do.

“I have an idea,” Rex says. He seems reluctant to share it. “It's a bit unconventional.”

The Generals share a look. Unconventional is their specialty. When their General decided to take them, most of the fighters went against him, thinking they should be imprisoned now, all of them, and it's difficult not to agree. They were on the wrong side, after all. Their General says it doesn't matter because they didn't choose it. He didn't get everyone—some of them weren't ready to commit treason–but the ones he got will follow him everywhere, from the Core to uncharted territories without even blinking.

Their General is a big deal so he got what he wanted but it wasn't free. His new _mission_ didn't gain him any friends, that's for sure.

“We're listening,” General Dameron says with a slight smirk.

Rex shifts and averts his gaze. Whatever he's thinking about is going to be interesting. The whole room vibrates with anticipation.

“I need to come forward about something first,” he says. The whole room falls silent, waiting. “I like him.”

And that’s it. Rex doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay,” their General says, his voice trailing and rising at the end. “That's, uh, great?”

Rex clears his throat, eyes shifting. General Dameron gasps.

“Hang on,” he says with a big smile. “You _like_ him, don’t you?” He shakes his head. “Oh, wow. How did _that_ happen? Tell us everything.”

Rex doesn’t say anything. All of them are still silent but it's a given the whispers will start as soon as he cuts down the transmission. The technician comes into view; she has a blinding grin matching their General’s.

“Rose!” he exclaims, happiness obvious in his tone. They all feel like the suns came out, even though it's in the middle of the night. The technician starts talking frantically. Behind her, Rex seems awfully grateful. Unfortunately for him, General Dameron is never easily deterred.

“—didn't see him since that first day but Cas likes him. I'm just going to wait before I try again.”

“You sure? You could always come back with BB. We'll send someone else,” General Dameron suggests. Their General elbows him and shakes his head.

“Do you think you got this?” he asks her. She nods. “Okay, then. We trust you,” he says pointedly, glancing at General Dameron, who nods with a sheepish smile.

“You make a lot of decisions for someone who isn't here,” Rex comments with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, Finn’s definitely the brains. When Rey’s not here, at least,” General Dameron says smoothly. “Anyway, you were telling us about your plan to seduce him?”

“What,” Rex chokes out. “ _No_. It's not like that!”

“It's not?”

“Er—well, it's. I'm not.” He shifts, visibly uncomfortable. “I'm not doing that. That would defeat the purpose.”

“So you're not doing him is what you're saying?”

“Fierfek, Dameron—if I could punch you right now, I would,” he says through gritted teeth.

“So you want to make friends with him?” their General asks. At the answering nod, he frowns. “Do you _really_ want to?”

Rex frowns at the suspicious tone. “I think so, yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You want to befriend him?”

“I said yes already. Why is it so difficult to believe?”

Their General shrugs. “I just want to know if it's not something you're doing because it could help us.” He grimaces. “If we manipulate him then we're no better than Palpatine.”

Rex crosses his arms over his chest and averts his gaze. “You're right,” he says with a sigh. “It's not... It's not like that. I won’t…” His jaw clenches. “I can’t do that. I’m just thinking… Maybe considering him like a shiny—like you consider your troopers here... It could be good.”

Their General nods, satisfied. “Okay, then.”

It's settled. The transmission does not last for long. When the holograms disappear, the Generals have one of their conversations—the ones that are entirely silent but that they both seem to find normal. They leave them at that, already bursting with ideas and theories. If someone like Rex can like someone like the Sith, does that mean everyone can be loved?

The new stories exchanged at night are highly romanticized and probably untrue but everyone seems to like them. Even the spies invent their own; it turns out they can always find reasons for someone to be loved, no matter what they did. For the following days, the base seems happier. It always is when General Dameron is here but, right now, it's different. Rather than happy, the base seems hopeful.

“Everybody deserves a second chance,” their General says one morning and they're all inclined to believe him.


	4. Mandalore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I want Maul to go on a full-on rant with all the extraness he's capable of then I remember this dude's twenty and still nonverbal af and. Well. Monologues are overrated ig let's stare and pace like some edgy kid yeah?

  
  


“You're getting better at this,” the captain says, sprawled down on the mats and panting. Maul watches him from above, pacing. He truly is. It has taken many cycles but Maul finally feels like his body is his own.

“Again,” he calls and the captain rolls his eyes but gets up.

“Yes, sir,” he replies with sarcasm. Maul huffs but says nothing.

They found a rhythm that works best for both of them; Maul will always attack first and, from there, they find their footing. The repetition is strenuous but necessary. He built up his reflexes again; now, he does not think before throwing the captain off of him. The kata are now as natural for his body as they are for his mind. This body learns fast. Faster than it ought to. Maul is not going to complain.

His cycles are spent training and learning. It is not so different from what he is used to. He feels as imprisoned as he used to be _before,_ the exception being that it is now more evident. The more time he spends in the ship, the less sure he is about his situation. This seems too long for one of his Master’s trials. Surely he would have stopped the experiment already.

The only other beings he comes into contact with are the captain and Cas. He has yet to see the emdee droid or the female he heard the first time he woke up.

He and Cas usually argue over the holotable whenever she feels like being insufferable. They never fight with their hands, favouring their wits but it comes to a close from time to time. Usually he spars with the captain afterwards and feels better each time he makes him fly from one side of the room to the other.

Once again, the captain goes down on the mats. Laughing. The reaction always throws Maul off. It is… unexpected. It always is, even if he does it often. Maul is not used to people laughing. Even less when he is with them. He does not even understand _why_ the captain laughs. No joke is told. No teasing done. There is no reason for him to laugh—yet he does.

And every time he does, Maul feels… odd. He does not know the word for what he feels. He just knows that it is something _new—_ something he has not experienced before.

The captain stands up on his own. Maul can see from his body language that they will not do anything more for the day. The captain stretches, shoulders rising. He can see a sliver of skin between his pants and shirt. There are hairs below his belly button—they are as blond as the top of his head. He averts his gaze and has to stop himself from fidgeting. He cannot fathom why he wants to fidget in the first place.

“I’m good for the day,” the captain says with a sigh then—

Maul readies himself this time. The captain brushes his knuckles against his arm while passing. He does not react. His body still tenses but, at least, it is not visible. Once it is over, he stops himself from breathing until the captain is far enough. He releases a shaky breath then and scowls. He has yet to find a way to become impervious to whatever _this_ is.

_This—_ or, more accurately, _these,_ are attacks the captain will do at random times. Rather than the punches and blows he uses against him while they spar, _these_ can happen at any given time. Sometimes, they stand next to the holotable and the captain puts his hand on his elbow for a second. One time, Maul was coming out of the refresher and the captain threw clothes at his face; once he was dressed, he slapped his abdomen with the back of his hand in a gesture not strong enough to cause pain. When he laughs, he usually walks towards him and brushes his knuckles against his arm.

Maul does not understand _these._ They do not harm. They have no purpose. From what he can gather, they are part of a convoluted plan he is still not privy to—but he will be.

He goes to the refresher without a second glance. While in the sonic, his mind is oddly blank. He takes the dirty clothes and puts them in the compartment without thinking, puts on new clothes and joins Cas at the holotable.

“Politics under the new Republic for today,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “This is going to be tedious and boring. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“If you say so,” he replies with a huff.

He decidedly does not enjoy today’s recapitulation but she definitely does.

“I fail to see how all of this is relevant,” he says after forty-five minutes of extremely detailed information about the two major political factions in the New Republic Senate. “Hosnian Prime was destroyed two years ago and with it the Republic’s legislative body. Why should I care?”

“I am both vexed you do not enjoy my explanation for the sake of it and very pleased you actually listened to me for once,” Cas says. At his scowl, she waves a dismissive hand. “You don't listen half of the time. I know it. Don't try to say otherwise.”

He does not. She is right, after all. She goes on about the deadlock as if uninterrupted. After fifteen tedious minutes of lawmaking history, the captain comes in. His hair is still wet, droplets of water running down his neck, disappearing at the hem of his shirt. The captain favours water showers. Maul does not know what to do with the information.

“He doesn’t need to hear all of that, Cas,” he says with a warm chuckle. “I sure didn’t.”

“Oh, hush,” she says dismissively. “Just because you don’t concern yourself with politics doesn’t mean he shouldn’t, captain.”

“I never said I wanted to,” Maul feels the need to say. The captain glances at him with a raised brow and his smile turns into a smirk. Maul averts his gaze, feeling distraught, and focuses on the holo in front of him. A Human is speaking; the sound is muted. He activates it.

_If you choose to believe that what I've shown you is no more than an elaborate invention, go ahead. But before you ignore the evidence, consider this._

Cas pauses the holo. “Leia Organa,” she says. Besides him, the captain tenses. “A major political figure,” she explains, “But not only.”

She does not say anything else and the captain stays silent. Maul watches the hologram more closely. Her face is familiar. He already saw her but not in a political context. No, this is not it; she looks similar to someone else. Ah, yes. Perhaps—

“The queen of Naboo,” he mutters. He sees her traits, the plane of her nose and her regal stance. “She has her mother’s eyes.”

The captain takes in a sharp breath. Maul blinks back towards him in curiosity. Cas nods.

“She was the daughter of Queen Amidala,” she confirms. “Her father was Anakin Skywalker.”

He observes the captain closely. Something is amiss. The name means nothing to Maul but it clearly does to him. He cocks his head to the side, silently prompting him to speak. The captain does not, staring at the hologram, jaw clenched.

“You know her father,” he says. His lack of response is confirmation enough. At once, he feels the urge to touch him—to prompt a similar reaction to the ones the captain induces whenever he does it with him. He takes a deliberate step towards him, raises his hand and, with the tip of one finger, he taps his wrist twice—not enough to hurt but enough to be felt. The captain’s reaction is immediate; his eyes slide back to Maul at once and he blinks. “Who is Anakin Skywalker,” he asks with a low voice. Who is he to you, he wants to say but does not.

The captain stares at him for a moment then his eyes settle on his own wrist, where Maul’s finger rests. Now he is frozen, unable to take it back. He wants to scowl. This was not supposed to happen.

“He was my Jedi,” the captain mutters, voice rough. Maul’s finger twitches—an undeniable tell. When he tries to take his finger away, the captain’s hand chases after him; his fingertips brush the back of his hand before retreating. The memory of his touch feels like fire on his skin. Suddenly he is the one unbalanced.

“How old are you,” he blurts out. Something shifts—the captain watches him and a grin appears on his face.

“I’m eighteen,” he says.

“Darth Vader died thirty-two years ago,” Maul states, not commenting on the blatant lie. The captain nods, eyes on Leia Organa.

“Yeah. It’s been a long time,” he mutters. Before they can continue more on this, Cas loses patience and cuts them both short by starting yet another long rant about the new Republic Senate. For the rest of the session, the captain throws glances at him; it unnerves Maul to no end but he does not give him the satisfaction of showing it.

He skips meditation altogether and collapses on his bed. When Cas pokes him with food, he grunts and ignores her until she goes away. He falls asleep quickly afterwards.

He is woken up by someone breathing besides him. He opens his eyes immediately and attacks the intruder instinctively. When he blinks, he has the captain under him, wrists locked in his hand and the other one on his throat. “What,” he sneers and receives no answer. He bares his teeth aggressively and grips his wrists more tightly. All the captain does is smile, raising an eyebrow.

Maul feels a hand brushing his arm. He tenses. The captain’s wrists are in his hands. Realisation hits him. He is dreaming. He releases a sigh and relaxes immediately. He sits back on his heels and huffs. How useless.

It is always the same dream—he wakes up, thinking there is a threat nearby only to find the captain. Each time, Maul pins him down. The captain never resists. Each time, Maul feels phantom touches.

“I do not understand,” he says through gritted teeth. He growls and stares him down. “What is the meaning of this?”

As always, the captain does not respond. Maul wakes up frustrated, his hearts beating frantically. He clenches his fists and seethes in silence.

He takes advantage of his boiling anger and meditates for a couple of hours. When he opens his eyes, the captain is at the holotable, reading something. Maul stands up and walks up to him. He is wearing what seems to be an undersuit. Intrigued, he touches his back, pressing his fingers to the cloth. He does not know what material this is. The captain glances back at him and smiles.

“Good morning,” he says. Maul’s eyes settle on his face but he says nothing. He does not move his hand away. The captain does not comment on it.

“What is this,” he asks, fingers twitching on the undersuit.

“Blacks,” the captain replies. “Sort of. It’s not the same but… it’s comfortable. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to civs.”

_Civs._ Maul tilts his head. “You were a stormtrooper.” The idea seems both odd and fitting. There is no doubt the captain received combat training of some sorts but from what Maul understood the First Order did not train their stormtroopers to be Jedi killers. He is missing something.

“Er, not really,” is the response. The captain props himself against the holotable, crossing his arms behind his back. “We have spares, if you want.” Maul hums but says nothing. His fingers trail over the material and settle on the captain’s chest where there is a black circle.

“I gather this is where the First Order’s sigil once was,” he mutters. He cannot feel heat coming from the man. He presses on his chest—no distinctive heartbeat. Thick enough to be a thermal suit, then.

“Er—yeah,” the captain rasps, his gaze sliding towards his face. He clears his throat. “Do you. Er. Want to spar?”

Maul cocks his head. Usually they do not spar this early. The captain seems tense. He does not understand why, which makes him wary. He takes a step back, arms against his sides, just in case he has to fight back quickly. As soon as he does, the captain visibly relaxes.

Maul stops himself from grinning.

So he _was_ right. There is a reason for the captain touching him without trying to hurt. He is testing boundaries, waging how far he can go without Maul reacting. It is insulting to realise that the captain's strategy worked; he has been plagued by dreams illustrating his frustration. A new kind of mind game, then.

He will wager the captain did not take into account that Maul could do the same.

He will not be obvious about it. He faces the holotable and asks, “Do you want to?”

They do spar. Nothing changes from what they usually do until they stop. When the captain extends his hand, Maul takes it so he can pull him up. The reaction on his face when he actually does is a victory on its own; he does not surprise the man often or, at least if he does, it is difficult to find a tell. Maul lets go of his hand as soon as he is standing and walks straight to the refresher. It is enough for now.

Afterwards, when Cas gives him yet another useless piece of information about the Senate, he waits for the captain to roll up his sleeves then walks around the holotable and lets his fingers graze his arm from elbow to wrist. His reaction is immediate—the man goes still, eyes focused on the hologram in front of them widening. The captain throws glances at him multiple times after this. Maul’s face stays impassive.

From then on, it is a question of how far he can go without the captain noticing the pattern. Some days, he merely touches his wrist or grazes his elbows; one time he knocks their knees together—not enough to hurt but it is easily noticeable. Every time afterwards, the captain fidgets and seems to lose focus for a moment. Maul did not realise that the _idea_ of pain would prompt more reactions from the man than the actual reality of it. Nor did he realise he would appreciate said reactions much more than slamming him down on the mats.

The only issue with his newfound strategy is that it affects him as much as it does the captain. He is now plagued with dreams in which he is powerless against him. Whenever the captain tries to hurt him, to break his wrist or push him away Maul never has enough strength; his punches turn into grazes, his hand refuses to close down on the captain’s joints enough to fracture and if he touches skin he freezes, the point of contact becoming the sole thing he can focus on.

After a standard week and a half, he thinks he has been played. The captain reacts less now or, when he does, it is only to return the touch, small counter attacks that shatter Maul’s focus on the task at hand. He grows increasingly more frustrated.

Their spars however become more interesting; now Maul’s body is closer to his original’s. Their techniques are different and the captain has to resort to more advanced forms to stop him. The sight of him when his grin turns feral is one Maul longs to see every cycle; soon, he will be able to best him and they both know it. This knowledge empowers him; he grows bolder in every way. If he touches the captain’s back at the beginning of a session with Cas, he will not take his hand away until the droid stops talking. If he sees an opening in the captain’s stance when they fight, he memorises it and favours commenting on it later on over taking immediate advantage.

“Standards are still calibrated on Hosnian Prime since there’s no definite place for the Sena—you listen to me every day now!” Cas exclaims one time when the three of them are around the holotable. “I thought you’d never do.”

Maul chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “It may be because you give me interesting information _now._ ” He points at one of the holos on his left and exchanges with Cas. It takes a moment but, after a while, he grows wary. “Did the Trade Federation collapse befor—” he cuts himself off and scowls. “Captain?” he asks through gritted teeth. The man has been openly staring at him for at least fifteen minutes, not contributing to anything they have discussed. “Do you have something to say?”

The man blinks then straightens noticeably, eyes shifting. He touches the back of his neck and shakes his head.

“No, no. Er, nothing,” he says quickly. Maul’s eyes narrow.

“ _What,_ ” he snaps, hands clutching at the table. The captain crosses his arms over his chest and splutters.

“I’m just—I was. Surprised. That’s all.” When he replies nothing, the man huffs. “It’s the first time I hear you laugh. That’s. Er. Yeah.” He touches the back of his neck again.

“And?”

“It’s. It’s nice,” he rasps. “That’s all.”

Maul stares at him, uncomprehending. Cas stays uncharacteristically silent. The captain crosses his arms over his chest, fidgeting, then mutters, “The Trade Federation,” pointing at the holotable. “Cas?”

“Collapsed after the Fall of the Empire—like most things, really,” she comments dryly. When she goes on a rant about the aftermath of the Battle of Endor, Maul stops listening. He watches the captain the entire time. The man never glances back at him.

When he leaves without a single word, Maul is not surprised but he feels oddly distraught.

The following cycle, he tries something. Rather than stopping himself from showing any reaction, he chuckles victoriously when the captain has to tap out but refuses, trying to throw him off him. “Yield, captain,” he says with a quiet laugh. “There is nothing you can do.” It is immediate; the man freezes underneath him and stares at his face as if seeing it for the first time. He says nothing. “Yield,” he repeats, looming closer. He clenches his fists around the captain’s wrists to remind him of his situation.

The man blinks. He licks his lips absentmindedly, hands twitching. “And if I don’t,” he mutters rebelliously. Maul watches him with narrowed eyes. The captain breathes more rapidly.

“Then this will not be practice, captain,” he growls. “And you and I both know how a fight will turn out now.”

“Why don’t you fight, then,” he whispers, eyes searching. The monotonous tone puts Maul on edge. “You could kill me now.”

He stands up abruptly and takes a couple of steps back. The captain stays where he lies for a moment. When he sits back up, Maul tenses.

“Do you want to go another round?”

“No,” he sneers, stalking out of the room and straight to the refresher. He takes a shower then meditates in the sparring room once it is empty.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Cas asks when she comes in. When he does not reply, she goes away without another comment. He stays on his own for the rest of the cycle, seething in rage. He does not know why he is so angry. He does not know _when_ he became less angry.

For a long moment, he is too agitated to focus. He misses his connection to the Force more than he would like to admit, even to himself. The phantom of it—the lack of sensation, the feeling of nothing where once was everything—torments him more than his current situation as a prisoner. Maul has never been free; from the moment he was born, his life was not his own. This is nothing new. His connection to the Force, however, was a means to gain freedom; through it, Maul became stronger and with strength came power. Through power, he would gain freedom.

His anger, his rage, his fear mean nothing now. With them he accomplishes nothing.

He does not know when he starts to yell or destroy everything he can around him but, when the captain blocks him down on the ground, Maul does not fight back. His body goes limp and he can feel his throat working but he cannot tell what he is saying.

“This isn’t your master’s doing,” the captain says against his ear, the weight of him on Maul’s back a threat he needs to deal with. His body, however, remains useless; he cannot seem to move. “He’s dead,” he hears him say, voice rumbling in his chest, creating vibrations against Maul’s back. “He can’t find you here.”

His fingers twitch around nothing. He has no control over the tremors his body puts him through. He remains blocked on the ground, powerless. The captain shifts and, with the motion, his hands slide upwards until Maul can feel his own fingers twitch around the man’s. Without thinking, he claws his hands into fists to connect the captain’s fingertips with his own palms.

“We will all die,” he whispers, the fear in his voice filling him with useless anger. “He is going to kill us all.”

“He’s dead, Maul,” he hears him murmur, feeling his forehead settle in the curve of his nape. He sobs at the sensation. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Fool,” he croaks. “You do not understand.”

He does not remember what happens afterwards.

  
  
  


Maul wakes up without chains. He is in his bed. He sits up. The energy fields are still down; the door is still open. He gets up, walks to the holotable and stands still. He stares at the door from where Cas and the captain come in.

It is open. It leads to a ladder. He walks there but does not step outside the sparring room. There are no traps he can see. He can hear voices coming from the upper deck.

“I don't think he's up yet,” he hears the captain say. He could be referring to him or another crew member he is not aware of. “Cas, can you check? It's almost ready.”

He can hear the droid going down the ladder. When she’s halfway, she says, “He’s here,” and climbs back up. “Food’s ready,” she calls out. “Get in here.”

One of his eyes twitches and he scowls but he still takes the step. Nothing happens. He puts one foot on the ladder and climbs, readying himself for a fight. The strong smell of food hits his nostrils when he is almost to the upper deck. The captain looks down at him and extends his hand. “Good morning,” he says. Maul stares at him for a moment, unmoving. He wars with himself until he decides to take his hand. The captain pulls him up and Maul considers the room.

It is a kitchen. There is a table in the middle with vegetable peels and spices on one side and two bowls on the other. Cas is stirring what seems to be cooked stew.

“You can finally eat while it’s still warm,” the captain says, sitting down. He takes one bowl and puts a spoonful of what seems to be mashed salthia beans in it. He takes the other bowl and proceeds to do the same. “Hand me the pot,” he tells Cas, who complies silently. He gestures at him then points to the stool next to his own. “You can sit down, you know.”

Maul stands still for a while, taking stock of the room. There are knives, chopsticks and other weapons ready to be taken. The knowledge angers him. His body stiffens. “Can you make the polystarch?” the captain asks him as if nothing about the situation is odd. Maul stares at him but says nothing. He must think he does not know what to do because he says, “Just mix it in the plates.”

“What is this,” he mutters, fists clenching.

“Food,” Cas answers. “You need it to survive. I don’t.”

“Thus you are superior?” he replies with a huff.

“Undoubtedly so.”

The captain gets up and puts a hand on his arm, getting his attention. He slowly stirs him closer to one of the stools. “There’s warm food on the table. You can argue with her while eating.”

Sitting down, Maul grits his teeth. “What is the meaning of this.” The captain sits down next to him, takes one of the bowls and puts a generous spoonful of stew in it.

“Breakfast,” he says, putting the steaming meal in front of Maul. “I put spices in it. You've got to get used to them again because most cheap meals for non-obligate carnivores are spicy.”

“Why.”

“Because they're awful. They taste like the soles of my bo—”

“Why am I here,” he growls.

The captain hands him chopsticks. When Maul takes them, he says, “Because you could kill me. We all know it.” One side of his mouth upticks in a smile that does not truly convey happiness. “You had many opportunities to kill me but you stopped trying.”

“I could kill you now with _this_ ,” he replies, brushing the captain's hand with the chopsticks. 

“I don't think you will.”

“There is little you could do to stop me,” Maul reminds him. He expects a protest or an angry retort but the captain does something else, something unexpected. 

He takes his hand and raises it to his own neck. The tips of his chopsticks rest against his jugular. Maul freezes. “Prove me wrong if you want,” the captain mutters, eyes focused on his face. For a long moment, neither of them moves. It would be easy now. It could be a trap but it seems unlikely. Maul would kill him before anything can be done to stop him. He has the advantage. The droid will be a minor issue and, if he is correct, there is only one other person on board. He could take control of—

“Maul,” the captain calls, voice low, almost a whisper. His thumb brushes the inside of his wrist to get his attention. He can feel the touch passing through his entire arm, like electric currents lighting up all his nerves. He stiffens, tries to take his hand away but the captain does it again and suddenly he cannot move. “Maul,” he calls and his eyes slide to the captain’s face without his permission.

“Do you want to kill me?” he asks, in the same tone he asked him _do you know who you are_ and it takes all of his restraint not to reply instantly. The realisation hits him like a blow to the face—sudden and unexpected. Maul lets the chopsticks fall on the ground, flinching away, the stool falling down with a loud bang on the floor. He takes a couple of steps back until he is almost to the ladder. The captain stands up and, when he bares his teeth in warning, he does not move. Maul starts pacing back and forth, never letting him out of his sight. His hands are clenching and unclenching. He has no idea what to do. He has no idea what to say. He growls in frustration. The captain reacts; the hand he has on the table twitches and he swallows, his laryngeal prominence bobbing up and down. An urge assaults him at the sight—a need he does not understand. His nostrils flare; his sense of smell is not as sharp as a pure Zabrak’s or a Togruta’s but it is still better than a Human’s. He can smell fear permeating the air but also something else. He does not know what it is but his body seems to like it. He takes a step forward—once again the smell hits his nostrils. He takes another step forward, then another, inhales and—

His nose is almost touching the captain’s skin when Maul realises what he is doing. He stands still, not knowing if a brusque jump backwards will be regarded as a threat. He watches the captain’s throat work and is close enough to hear him swallow.

“No,” Maul mutters, certain, then steps back. He walks around the captain, sits down and takes his bowl in hand. The smell is exquisite. He takes the captain's chopsticks and eats without waiting. For a long moment, the captain does not move. Maul puts the polystarch powder in the water and mixes it in, watching the bread rise. He takes one for himself and stops himself from grimacing when he bites into it. He remembers it to be tastier than this. It actually has no taste whatsoever except for a vague feeling of emptiness.

The captain sits besides him and eats without uttering a single word. Maul says nothing either. After a while, he notices that Cas is nowhere to be found. He has no idea _when_ exactly she made herself scarce.

“Where is the other one,” he says between mouthfuls of stew. This, contrary to the polystarch, has flavour. He likes it very much. “Not Cas,” he adds, perhaps unnecessarily.

“Still sleeping,” the captain replies, mouth full. He breaks his polystarch and uses one piece to mop up the sauce from his bowl. Maul does the same thing silently. It is definitely tastier with sauce. “She’d like to meet you, if you want.”

“Why.”

The captain glances at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well, we’ve been living together for two months now. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to see you.”

Maul stares at his empty bowl. When the captain silently gestures at the pot, he shakes his head. “Where is here, exactly?”

“Lytton sector. We’re orbiting around Spira,” he replies. “No one will try to board us, here.”

Spira. They are in the Core. Somehow, this does not appease him. “This is a freighter,” he says. It is a heavily modified one but he is almost certain it is one. From what he guesses, his cell is in the cargo space. The captain nods—there is a glint in his eyes.

“It is,” he confirms. “What else can you say about it?”

Maul crosses his arms over his chest, stretching his legs out. His knee brushes with the captain’s. Neither moves away. “Three organics and two droids onboard,” he states. “You took the thrusters out and I would wager we have no hyperdrive.” He never felt the rumbles of the engines—if he lives in the cargo space, he would have already. At the responding silence, he huffs. “You made sure I couldn’t get away so I imagine there are no escape pods either.”

“We’re stuck,” the captain confirms with a small smile. “We might as well all get along.”

He scowls. The captain chuckles; he gets up, takes their bowls and walks to the cooking station. He puts both bowls in the washer and props himself up against it, arms crossed, facing him. “Do you want to spar?”

“Why are we here,” Maul growls. He stands up, eyes on the man. “What is the meaning of all this.”

For a long moment, he receives no answer. He stops himself from pacing and clenches his fists.

“The Sith are gone. Palpatine is dead. Dathomirians have been extinct for decades,” the captain says eventually. He pushes himself off the counter and walks towards him. “You can be whoever you want. Nothing commands you to be who you were supposed to be; there’s nothing stopping you from being free.”

“Except you,” he sneers. The captain shakes his head and smiles. It does not reach his eyes.

“I’m here to make sure you’ll survive,” he whispers, eyes focused on his face. “I’m here to make sure you won’t make the same mistakes.”

“Mistakes,” he spits. “Who are you to s—”

“You died alone, Maul,” he says, voice devoid of emotion. His finger taps at his chest. “You died, on your own, on a planet no one cares about, and no one cared when you did. You _karked up._ If we let you go on your own, you’ll make the same decisions. You’re going to succeed for a while and then you’re going to fail like you already did. _Twice._ ”

“Liar,” he growls, pushing his hand away. The captain scowls.

“Come with me,” he orders, gripping his wrist and pulling him towards the ladder. The move is so sudden Maul breaks out of the hold reflexively. The captain climbs down the ladder without a second glance. “Come see how much of a liar I am,” he shouts from the cargo space. Maul scowls, ready to ignore him until he says, “Or you can keep scowling like a moody youngling in the kitchen! I don’t care!”

This—this enrages him. He jumps down to the cargo space and stalks him until they are in the middle of the sparring room. He growls in anger and attacks without thinking. The captain swings him on the ground in a flawless move; fuelled by rage, Maul gets up and pounces on him. He thinks he has the upper hand for a while until he is thrown on his back, legs blocked by the captain’s weight over him, wrists in a tight lock. He thrashes—to no avail.

“I can do this all day,” the captain sneers, a vicious grin on his face. The sight makes his blood boil. He bares his teeth in a furious growl, calls on the Force to gain the power to destroy hi—

He lets out a distressed whine before he can stop himself. The captain’s eyes widen; the hold on his wrist goes limp. Maul takes in a sharp breath—he is once again assaulted with that tantalising smell. It is the captain. It has to be. He tries to get up and inhales again. The man above him freezes. Maul takes advantage of this and flips them over, now pinning him down on the mats. He looms closer, breathes in.

“Show me,” he commands. He gets up and walks to the holotable without glancing back.

He has not asked about himself in detail nor did he look for information on his own since he gained access to the holotable. A small part of him claims it is because he does not trust the information. A bigger part whispers that it is because he has no way of verifying it.

In truth, Maul simply does not want to know. What he gathered is enough of a deterrent. He failed—that much is easy to see. He failed spectacularly. His master abandoned him. He was discarded like garbage. His failure was great enough for his master to choose a machine as a replacement over him despite having the opportunity to.

His hands are tightly clenched on the holotable when the captain joins him, turns it on silently and puts himself besides him. The man’s elbow brushes against his skin when he crosses his arms over his chest.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the captain says, voice devoid of emotion. “The Jedi who killed you twice.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi. A name that should be important, that should create in him a sense of hatred. It does not. Maul feels nothing when he hears it.

“Twice,” he repeats in a sneer. “How.”

“You underestimated him,” is the monotonous answer. “This is your greatest flaw; you know exactly what you bring to the field but sometimes you tend to underestimate your adversaries.”

Maul huffs; he pushes himself away from the holotable and walks around it, hands behind his back. “I take it you would have fared better,” he says primly. The captain snorts.

“Yes. Mainly because my ego isn’t as big as yours,” he replies wryly. Maul stares at him and scowls. “Yes, yes, you are the superior foe and you will win if we fight. You also always underestimate me because I’m not Force sensitive.” He takes off his jacket, tossing it onto the table. There is a tear in his left sleeve, probably from when Maul attacked him. When he passes by him, the captain curls his hand around Maul’s elbow and says, “You had ressources, knowledge and allies. You’ve got none now so you can suck it up and let me talk or keep whining like a shiny.” He tightens his grip. “You sit down and listen _or_ we can spar and forget about all this. Which one is it going to be?”

Maul glares at him, says nothing but deliberately stands besides him, facing the hologram. The captain observes him for a moment then releases him. He says, “You dueled with Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo. You killed him. His Padawan was there.” He puts a hand on Maul’s waist, his fingers tracing an invisible line from left to right. “He cut you in half, left you to rot like thrash. Everyone thought you died, including your master.” His hand splays on his midriff. “You survived. I don’t know how you did it but you survived. It took you twelve years to resurface.” He pulls holos of Maul.

_There will be more innocent blood on your hands, Kenobi, unless you come here. Face me,_ his original self demands. The cybernetics are unmistakable. He stops himself from touching his legs but he still clenches his thighs as a useless reassurance.

“What happened afterwards,” he says tonelessly. He can see the captain watching him on his peripheral vision. He keeps staring at his original self, face impassive.

“You had a brother,” he tells him. The hologram of a massive Zabrak appears. Yellow skin. He clenches his fists.

_Don’t cry,_ a disembodied voice rumbles in his head. He sees yellow hands—everything else seems to blur. _Mother Talzin chose you. It is an honor,_ the voice explains. The memory brings emotions he is not used to deal with. He takes a step back; the captain’s hand on his arm tethers him to reality. “Brother,” he mutters. The word means nothing to him. He can almost hear his young self laughing. His hand twitches; the captain’s hold tightens. The memory means nothing to him.

“His name was Savage,” the captain says. “He died on Mandalore. We don’t know who killed him.”

He bangs his fist on the table without thinking. The captain does not budge. “My Master,” he states. All Nightbrothers are Force sensitive and Maul had little to no interest in meeting his brethren. No—if this one was with him, then he had to be his apprentice. A master and an apprentice. Darth Sidious would never have let that happen. “You said I am the last of my kind.”

“Yes. The Nightsisters all died during the Clone War. We have no records of a Nightbrother living after the fall of the Empire,” the captain explains, showing him the archives. “With Palpatine dead, there are no Sith left.”

“Who killed them.”

“The Sith?” He averts his gaze, shakes his hand off and starts pacing. The captain nods, understanding. “The Dathomirians. We’re not sure. We suspect Dooku sent Grievous to wipe them out after one of the Nightsisters betrayed him. We only know of one survivor, except for you, and you both remained childless.” He falls silent afterwards. When Maul is close enough, his hand grazes his own. The unexpected touch makes him stand still. The hand grips his wrist, a tight hold that does not harm. Maul’s eyes trail over the captain’s face, searching for something he does not understand.

“Why are you doing this,” he asks before he can control himself. The captain does not respond for a long time—long enough for him to think he never will.

“I know what it’s like,” he mutters. “Waking up in a galaxy where nothing is the same. Realizing you lost everything and you can never go back.” His hand clenches around him.

“I see,” he replies even though he does not. He will not be the one to tell him he misunderstood the question. He looks at his original self, focusing on the organic parts. So many scars—some he recognises, others he does not. He, himself, bears none. None of his failures are marked on his skin yet here he stands. He was raised to become a weapon for the Sith, only to be cast away, forgotten. His skin is unblemished yet the failures of his original self branded him even before he gained consciousness. To realise that his Master did not even make the effort to destroy his clone. _This_ is how insignificant he is.

“Maul—”

“Spare me your platitudes.” He huffs, cutting him short, already knowing what was going to come. “Show me where I failed.”

The captain does. For the rest of the cycle, he shows him what they know, what he gathered, what he guessed and where he thinks Maul made a mistake. There is no judgment, nothing betraying what he truly thinks about his choices, about what he did or did not. The captain has a fascinating mind—drawing connections, noticing patterns and pinpointing flaws where most would not. His rendition of the timeline appears to be impeccable considering the lack of information he had to deal with. Maul wagers he is a formidable strategist and, taking into account his fighting skills, a great tactician. There is little doubt now that he already knows where Maul’s tactical flaws lie when they fight. The fact that he has not shown all the extent of his knowledge on him is… unnerving.

Maul watches him frowning, focused on a particular holo, the blue hues illuminating his face and he blinks. His fingers tap on the captain's hand twice to get his attention. “Show me,” he says. The captain stares back at him, confusion evident.

“What do you want me to show you?” he asks.

The answer gets stuck on Maul’s tongue, unable to come out. He averts his gaze and stops himself from stepping away to pace. “Show me what you think,” he says instead. His fingers settle on his skin—cooler than his own.

“Does it matter?”

For a long while, he does not answer. He does not know the answer. Does it matter? It should not. His original self died—what the captain thinks about him will never change his fate. The decisions he made are not his own. Maul is not… himself. Not anymore. He is a forgotten copy now. A discarded contingency. He dedicated his life to the Sith and they abandoned him. How fitting.

_Yes,_ he wants to admit. He does not know why. He does not understand why it matters. He says nothing.

The captain turns off the holograms. Instead, a map appears. “This is where I was born,” he says, pointing to a planet Maul is unfamiliar with. Outside of the galaxy. “Kamino.” The captain smiles. It does not reach his eyes.

“I wasn’t born with free will. My whole life was already planned. I was engineered to fight.” He falls silent for a while. Maul does not move. “Do you know what I am?” he asks.

_Human,_ he wants to reply but does not. If what the captain said is true about Darth Vader being… his Jedi, whatever it means, then he is much older than he appears to be.

The right answer appears in front of their eyes. Holograms of several files, different men. All dark haired; one has a scar on his temple, another a cybernetic eye and another is tattooed. They all share the same face.

“You are a clone,” he mutters. With everything he learned about the Clone War—he realised he never saw their faces. No, his focus remained on the Jedi and their unwilling involvement in his master’ grand plan. The clones, the defenders of the Republic, the faceless helmets—Maul cared little about them. And now, one is standing right besides him. “How,” he asks. Was he created by the First Order? It seems unlikely, considering their views on the subject.

“Stasis. A couple of weeks before the end of the war,” he answers. He crosses his arms over his chest. “My pod was found by pirates. It’s been five years now.”

Maul nods but stays silent. He looks at the captain’s head; there is a scar there, where the hair is short enough to see. Now he knows what it means. His hand goes to it; he feels it with his fingertip. “Do you have a name,” he says, eyes focused on the scar.

“Yes,” the captain replies. “We all did.”

He does not tell him his name. Maul does not compel him to.

The following cycle, when he wakes up, he can already smell the food. He sits up, intrigued. He should not be able to. “Turn the lights off,” he says. The ship does. He observes the room. It is pitch black. He can see perfectly well—better than he used to. He gets up, forgoing a shirt, walks around, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. He can smell cooked meat, salthia beans and raw vegetables. Closer, there is his own scent on the sheets, the permeative odor of recycled air and a spicy smell. It is strong yet faint. He opens his eyes. The captain left his jacket near the holotable. He takes a step towards it. He sniffs. Unmistakable—it is the captain’s. His fists clench. His sense of smell is not what it used to be. His sight is not what it used to be. His sensitivity to touch is not what it used to be. His hearing, his taste—nothing is what it used to be.

It appears this body has more… _differences_ from his original that he did not expect.

Suddenly, the urge to _escape_ is unbearable. His muscles tense; he feels himself getting ready to fight. Maul needs to leave. He needs to escape. There must be a way—he needs to find the cockpit. He looks at the holotable. Perhaps he can slice his way through and get access to the ship’s mainframe. From there, he finds the blueprints and cuts the power off. His time will be limited compared to the droids but he will survive longer than the Human without the life-support system. With any luck, the other sentient is a Human as well. He did not feel anything that could contradict the theory when he attacked her.

He sets himself to it; he walks around the holotable, tries to find some access point he did not notice earlier. There is none. Through the holoprojector then.

He puts his hand on the table, ready to climb on it. The projector turns itself on. He pushes the jacket out of the way. It slides down on the ground. The smell becomes stronger with the motion; Maul breathes in deeply, closing his eyes, and hums low in his throat, the sound rumbling in his chest. He freezes when he realises what he is doing. He jerks away from the table, from the jacket, quick, abrupt steps backwards until his shins hit the bed. He sits down, hands gripping his thighs, unable to breathe. He feels wrong. His body starts shaking; he tries to get up but falls down on the ground, one of his horns hitting the edge of the bed frame. His ears ring; he blinks. Every time he draws in a sharp breath, his senses assault him—the smells are too strong, the lights of the holos are too bright, his breathing is too loud, everything he touches feels like claws tearing at his skin. He tries to calm himself down—to no avail. He seethes in anger, helpless and fighting his own body. He remains struggling for a long time. He has no idea for how long exactly but it feels like an eternity.

He can hear noises, muffled and closing in. Footsteps. He tenses despite himself, teeth grinding, and tries to get up. The shaking is too strong. He cannot stand on his own.

He is being moved. He hears sounds, still muffled, voices perhaps, but he has no idea what they say. His nose touches something cool but soft; Maul draws in a sharp breath. The scent is intoxicating. He feels his throat work, small vibrations—he may be speaking or trying to. He is not sure. He inhales deeply, the scent calming his shaking somehow. He is lifted up. He moves his head fractionally.

“Hey, hey—”

His ears ring; he cannot seem to remember how to form words. “Wha—” his head falls backwards; he can feel a strong hand holding it until he is pulled against something. He likes the scent of it. He settles more comfortably and hums.

Maul does not remember what happens afterwards.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: anxiety, body dysphoria, panic attack
> 
> wondering if i should keep the double updates since the chapters that aren't in maul's pov are always shorter or if i should update twice weekly, like M/Th ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (i don't know what happened but formatting got all wonky,,,it's fixed now!)


	5. Kamino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday/Thursday it is!

“We don’t know what’s happening,” Rex says. He doesn’t look good. “His condition keeps getting worse.” 

“From what you sent us, it’s not good,” one of the medics replies. “He’s deteriorating on a cellular level.”

“You mean he’s aging?” General Dameron asks. The medic shakes his head.

“No. His T cells are depleting faster than they should so we’re witnessing an immune system collapse. Now TCD isn’t always a bad thing but in his case it’s something I’ve never seen before. That, along with the MODS, means he can’t maintain homeostasis on his own.” He pulls up a holo to illustrate. They don’t understand what’s on it; they weren’t trained on that. 

“In Basic?” General Dameron asks with an annoyed sigh. The medic gives him a side eye and sniffs.

“He’s dying because his body is giving up. _All_ of it, simultaneously. Now exponential decay isn’t uncommon with clones—especially with those of low quality—but it should definitely _not_ be his case; he’s state of the art. And by that, I mean he is top quality _even now._ He can thank excellent manufacturing for his survival; he’s probably the only clone known to history who has survived stasis for this long. It’s a shame he’s going to die before we can see _how_ he achieved that.”

“Is there a cure?” Rex snaps. They never saw him like this before. He’s not angry but he is clearly upset. They all tense, slightly, even if he does not pose a threat. Old habits. 

“You’d have to ask the manufacturers; from what I can see, it’s planned obsolescence.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” General Dameron scoffs. “Why would they do that?”

Their General crosses his arms over his chest. He steps away from the holotable to pace slowly. He’s frowning. “If it’s planned, maybe there’s a cure,” he mutters, deep in thought. The room falls silent. “Think about it. If Palpatine wanted to keep him on a leash, there’s no better way; if he went on his own, he couldn’t survive. He’d need him to survive.”

“A deadman’s switch is actually a good possibility,” the medic says with nonchalant interest. “I mean, it’s pretty karked up but it wouldn’t be surprising coming from Kamino to offer something like that considering the crowd they catered to,” the medic comments. Rex inhales sharply at that.

“He’s from Kamino?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah,” the medic replies with a sure nod. “The longnecks were the only ones good enough at the time. Kriff, they probably still are. We don’t do clones as good as you anymore.”

General Dameron scoffs angrily at the medic but he is cut off by Rex before he can say anything. “Their cloning facilities were shut down when the Empire rose. There won’t be anything left,” he says then sighs in frustration. 

They look at each other. They’ve never seen him this upset before. One of them steps forward; their General looks at her immediately. “You could send us, sir. Infiltration is our specialty.” Another nods silently. If two of them volunteer then they all will. Tex and Ack are the only ones who found their names already; most of them aren’t sure yet. They take some but drop them after a while because they don’t fit. Their General says they have all the time they want.

“We’ll find a cure, sir,” Ack states. 

He frowns. He’s still not ready to let them out of his sight. “I’ll go with yo—”

“Sir,” Tex cuts in but falls silent right after. Insubordination. They all tense. She stands to attention, rigid. General Dameron shifts on his other foot. It takes a couple of tries but Tex eventually stands down. Both Generals smile. “You can’t leave now, sir. The Senators are scheduled to visit in two weeks.” Her eyes shift but she doesn’t budge. “It’s better if we’re not here when they arrive.”

General Dameron grimaces. They all know Tex is right. If the committee does not approve of their General’s project then the whole base will be shut down. The Senate does _not_ trust them. Most of the fighters don’t either. If they’re not here, they can’t be a liability.

“Your shinies are right, Finn,” Rex mutters. “First Order remnants are still strong in the Outer Rim. If they’re here, the senators will shut down any proposition before you can even explain.”

Apart from their General, not many people like them. General Dameron does and Rex never treats them differently—but that’s about it. The spies are the only group that doesn’t outright mistrust them. But, then, they’re spies—so they don’t trust them either. The fighters don’t like them because most of their comrades were killed by their own comrades. The engineers are wary of them. The medics mostly pity them.

One thing they know for sure is that, outside of the base, they’re usually not welcome. The old ones tell them that it used to be the same for their predecessors, after the fall of the Empire. What they know is that their General accepts them. 

“I don’t care,” their General says. “They’re under my protection and I’m not letting the Senate imprison them just to show the Republic’s still strong. They’re just ki—” He closes his mouth abruptly and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “They don’t deserve that,” he mutters. “They had no choice.”

“I know,” Rex says, nodding slowly. He frowns. “I know they had no choice, Finn. I’m not going against you about this but if you leave them on the base then they will all end up in a correctional transport and Maul will end up vivisected by people like this chakaar right here.”

“What did you call me?” the medic sneers. “Who do you think you are? If you think you can talk to me like that just because you have rights now—”

General Dameron puts a hand on his shoulder and tries to calm him down. “Hey, hey—Easy, _easy._ Chakaar means doctor, alright?”

“Oh, yeah? Is that true?” he asks Rex, antennas twitching in anger. The other man glances at him but doesn’t reply. The medic pushes General Dameron’s hand off him. “Find someone else to help you. I’m not working with ungrateful clones,” he says before storming out.

“I’m going to assume that didn’t actually mean ‘doctor’,” General Dameron says wryly. Rex doesn’t reply.

“Let them go, Finn,” he asks instead. He averts his gaze for an instant and his jaw clenches. “Please. He won't survive otherwise.”

“Rex—”

“No,” he cut him off. “You don't see him everyday. You don't see how bad it's getting. Maul doesn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that.”

Silence reigns for a while.

“We can do it, sir,” Ack insists. They all nod emphatically. “Tex and I are ready. We’ll take care of the others.”

Their General shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he tells her and they all feel a weight against their chests. “I don’t doubt that. It’s not you I’m afraid of—it’s the people you might encounter.”

“We can defend ourselves,” she replies with a frown. “We were trained to become—” She closes her mouth and stares at the ground. When General Dameron puts his arm around her shoulders and squeezes, she nods. It takes a beat but she says, “Let us try, sir.”

Their General doesn’t say anything. He stares at Rex and sighs heavily when he sees him nod mutely.

“I'll go with them," General Dameron tells him softly. “We'll be fine. I survived getting blasted at by the First Order with _Kaz._ I think we can handle a couple of pirates. Right, Ack?”

It takes a lot of convincing but, eventually, he lets them go. With General Dameron. He won’t let them go on their own. 

Ack hugs their General before they take off. She doesn’t explain afterwards. They all know what it means; they see the engineers hug all the time. It’s just not something they do; it’s something others do, not them. But Ack takes Tex’s hand in hers and squeezes it when they jump into hyperspace. It seems nice. They all try it after that. General Dameron shows them. It is nice.

“I’ll hug each one of you when you come back,” their General says with a wide grin when they sitrep. He’s not here but the whole ship feels like he is; they’re all happy afterwards and General Dameron teaches them how to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: alienation, dehumanization
> 
> if you call your mando medic 'chakaar' they're going to punch you real hard jsyk


	6. Concord Dawn

He is lying down on his stomach—he is not in his bed. He inhales sharply. He is wearing a mask. He can smell bacta but not much else.

“Hello,” a voice says. Maul does not recognise it. His eyes open—the light is blinding for an instant. He blinks, disoriented until he sees someone. There is a Human sitting next to his bed. He does not know him.

His fists clench.

The Human raises a hand in a deliberately slow movement. He is holding a comlink. Maul has never seen one like it. “He’s awake,” he says.

He tries to get up but falls back right away. His body is too exhausted. Panic overtakes him. He can feel his hearts rattling against his ribs, blood pumping faster through his veins, his breathing quickening.

A hand settles on his arm. He turns his head sharply and—

“Hey,” the captain whispers, eyes roaming over his face, hand squeezing his arm. “Welcome back.”

Maul stares at him for a long moment, uncomprehending. He tries to talk but coughs, throat dry. The captain reacts immediately; he pulls off his mask and gives him water. Maul's eyes slide to the other man.

“How are you feeling?” the Human asks. Maul stays silent. “We thought we’d lost you.”

He does not say anything. He looks around him. He must be in the medbay. The door is open. The corridor outside looks familiar. He is still in the freighter.

“How did you get here,” Maul rasps. The man raises an eyebrow, smiling.

“Unmanned shuttle. BB-8’s my pilot,” he says, pointing at a droid next to his leg. Maul did not notice it. He has never seen another one like it.

< Hello, MAUL—designation—BB-8——meet—. > He blinks. It speaks Binary but this is a variant he is unfamiliar with. He understands half of what it tells him. < K4-5P1——hologram. >

“Let him breathe, Beebee,” the man says with a quiet laugh. “I’m Finn.”

Maul observes him. He does not fidget under his gaze. This man has killed. He is a fighter. Military, perhaps. Something about his stance is familiar. He looks like he is compensating for something—something he is used to have but does not at the time. “Who are you,” he asks.

The man’s eyes slide to a point behind him. To the captain, he suspects. 

“My men found you on Exegol.”

Exegol. The name is unfamiliar. “Your men,” he repeats. The man nods.

“Stormtrooper cadets,” he states. Then, swallowing, he mutters, “Former cadets.”

A stormtrooper. No. Something is amiss. This man does not look like a fanatic. “You are a defector,” he says.

“Yes,” he replies. There is no shame in his word. No pride either. “I joined the Resistance.” He crosses his arms over his chest. The gesture does not look defensive. How curious. “I made a choice. It was the first one of a long list. I decided to be free.”

Maul huffs. “You replaced one master for another,” he mutters. He abandoned his Supreme Leader to become the Republic’s puppet, thinking he could be _free._ Fool. As long as someone holds power over him, he will never be free.

The man laughs openly. “I think you might be right. The Senate’s driving me insane these days.”

“Some things never change,” the captain says. Maul turns his head back towards him. The captain was already watching him. His hand is still on his arm. Maul did not notice. He does not acknowledge it.

He does not understand the expression on the captain’s face. Somehow, he knows something happened. Something important.

“What is it,” he says. When the fingers slide on his shoulder and twitch instinctively, he glares. “Tell me.”

“You almost died,” the defector responds while the captain stays silent. Maul does not look back at him. “For a moment, we thought you wouldn’t make it.”

Maul observes the captain. “You look awful,” he comments out loud without meaning to. Behind him, the defector snorts. 

“So do you,” the captain retorts roughly with a quick smile. Maul huffs, averting his gaze. He feels exhausted at once, barely able to stay conscious. He fights against it.

“What happened,” he thinks he asks. His mind feels… unclear. He blinks. The captain’s hand clenches on his shoulder.

“Just sleep, Maul,” he says, in the distance. “We have time.”

“I—” he stops. He does not remember what he wanted to say. “You—”

“I’ll be here,” the captain says. Maul lets out a noncommittal hum. Eventually, his body betrays him—he falls asleep.

  
  
  


He is kneeling on the mats. He does not remember how he arrived here. In front of him sits his saberstaff, like an offering. The tangy smell of blood hits his nostrils, mixed with acrid fear and distress. He is not alone. He looks around and freezes when he sees the captain. He is lying on the floor, face on the mats, panting and shaking. His hands are missing; it looks like they were severed from his body. There is no blood around.

Maul stands up and walks to him without waiting. His hearts are rattling against his ribs; his breathing becomes erratic. Fear, he understands. The sight brings him fear.

“Captain,” he calls, abruptly kneeling before him. When he reaches out, the man flinches away. He sits still, hand hovering. “Captain,” he calls again.

“My apprentice,” someone says behind him. It is instinctual—his body bends, head dropping in submission.

“My Master,” Maul replies, crossing his hands in front of him, palms up. If he flexes his fingers, he could reach the captain’s head. He does not. “I am yours to command.”

“Mistakes will not be tolerated any longer,” Lord Sidious declares. Maul tenses. He wills his body to relax; he cannot show weakness. Before him, the captain pants heavily. Maul’s fingers shake, small tremors he cannot control. He already knows what will be asked of him.

“You know what must be done. Kill him,” his Master orders. He blinks; his staff is already in his hands. He ignites both blades. The captain flinches but does not try to move away—rather, he props himself up on his elbows and stares at him. Maul freezes. “Strike him down,” his Master commands.

He hesitates. A grave mistake. “Apprentice,” is his final warning. He can already feel the pain his Master will inflict on him for this. He looks at the captain. _Run,_ he wants to say. He does not. Maul stands up, hand clenched on his staff, muscles tensed and trembling. His arm raises, his blades roaring with the motion. He feels the need to close his eyes—he does not. He cannot show weakness.

His blade cuts the captain’s head off with a single slash.

Maul opens his eyes. He is lying down on his stomach. He is in the medbay. His head turns to the side, eyes going directly to—

The captain is here, sitting on a chair next to him, his head propped up on a closed fist. He is sleeping. His left hand rests on his thigh. It is twitching. Maul reaches for it without conscious thought, stopping himself when he is almost grazing it. His fingers stretch.

“Hey.”

Maul recoils, retreating his hand and staring at the captain. He is awake.

“How are you feeling?” He does not reply. The captain sighs. He stretches and gets up. Maul averts his gaze. He is given water, which he accepts silently. He swallows carefully—his throat feels unused. He wagers he has been unconscious for a long time. The captain takes the water away silently. When his fingers graze his arm, Maul blinks in surprise. He did not realise his eyes were closed. “You should eat solid food,” the captain says. Maul nods silently. He does not know what he should say. He tries to sit back up. When he does, pain flares through his spine; his eyes widen and he takes in a sharp breath. “Easy, easy,” the captain says immediately, his hand settling against his shoulder. “Go slow.”

He does not know what propels him to but Maul turns his head towards his wrist and inhales sharply. “What happened,” he rasps in a whisper, eyes closing on their own. He is pushed on his side then pulled into a sitting position, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, sheets around him. Once it is clear he will not drop back down, he is let go.

There’s something against his back. He touches it gingerly with his hand. Some kind of gauze. When he presses on it, the pain is almost blinding. “Don’t touch that,” the captain snaps, taking his hand away. “Give it time to heal.”

“What is it,” he growls. He is getting tired already. He wants answers. “What happened,” he snarls.

The captain sits back down, averting his gaze. Elbows on his knees, he crosses his fingers and sighs. “It’s a bio-stabilizer,” he says. “What you have implanted in your spine. It’s a temporary solution.”

“Temporary,” he repeats. 

The captain nods. At once, his eyes slide upwards until they settle on his own. Maul’s breath hitches. He clenches his fists around the bedsheets. 

“It prevents your immune system from collapsing. It’s keeping you alive,” he explains. “But it can’t be permanent. The doctors don’t know why but your body does not fully accept the transplant.” Maul does not react. “Estimate’s at a decade. Maybe two.” He averts his gaze to stare at his legs. He does not say anything.

The captain shifts, sitting closer to him. “We’ll find something,” he mutters. Maul looks at him sharply.

“Why?” he growls. “What could you possibly benefit from this?”

“Nothing,” is the response. It enrages him.

“Then why?” he sneers.

For a long moment, the captain stays silent. “I don’t know,” he whispers, eyes roaming over his face. “I guess… I just want you to live.” He swallows. “I’m not sure why.”

Maul’s stomach growls loudly. The captain blinks and jerks back. “Right,” he says, standing up, avoiding his gaze. “Solid food.” He leaves without a second glance. Maul is left on his own.

The door stays open.

He looks at his surroundings. The emdee droid is nowhere to be found. There is a pair of scalpels nearby. It could be a test. It could simply be because they are foolish.

Somehow, he does not think the captain would be.

Maul pushes the bedsheets away and tries to stand up. It is harder than he thought it would be; his legs are weak. He almost falls down before they finally adapt. Hands propped on the bed, he tries to move on the left, closer to the scalpels. When he can stand on his own, he reaches for one of them. He is naked. He has nowhere to hide it. There is a folded pair of pants on the table nearby. He takes them and puts them on. He almost falls doing so. Maul feels enraged by how weak he is. He puts the scalpel in his pocket and slowly walks to the door. It leads to a corridor. On his right, there is a ladder leading to a closed hatch. He doubts he would be able to climb. On his left, a series of closed doors. The only one open is the one at the end. He walks there gingerly. He refuses to lean against the walls. His spine protests but he keeps going. He hears sounds coming from there. Voices. He clenches his jaw and keeps walking.

When he finally arrives, his body betrays him—he has to lean against the doorway. He is out of breath. Pathetic. He growls in frustration.

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Cas snaps, stomping into the room and straight where he stands. His legs give out. She prevents his fall, holding him up by his armpits, almost dangling over the floor, then says, “You are insufferable.” He scowls but says nothing. Something moves behind her—he tenses and glares at it immediately.

It is the female. Her eyes widen when she sees him.

“Are you alright?” she asks, taking a step forward. He bares his teeth. She falters for an instant. She shakes her head, frowns, and keeps walking. His fists clench. “There’s better ways to hold him up, Cas,” she says dryly. She sneaks her way around the droid, takes one of his arms and puts it around her. “I’m small—just prop yourself up on my shoulder, okay?”

Cas mimics her posture on his other side. He stares at the Human. “You think you can walk to the kitchen?” she asks, gesturing with her chin to the door on the other side of the room, from where she appeared. “It’s just right there.” He nods silently. She smiles. “Let’s go.”

Walking is… awkward. Cas is taller than he is and the Human is much shorter. He is unbalanced. His spine reminds him of the fact at each step he takes. He clenches his jaw tightly and says nothing. In the kitchen, the captain is at the stove, stirring something in a pot. The defector is asleep, head between his arms on the table, snoring softly. There is a mug of caf gone cold in front of him. The captain turns around when he hears them. He takes one look at him and shakes his head, turning back to the stove. “It’s almost ready,” he mutters. “You don’t have to wake him up yet.”

They help Maul sit at the table. The captain is in front of him and the defector on his right. The female sits on his left. “I’m Rose,” she says, looking at him. He stares back but says nothing. Cas puts bowls in front of them.

“Don’t mind him. He is very rude,” the droid says. “He never listens to me.”

He huffs but stays silent. Cas starts ranting about him. He observes the captain. After a while, he sees him take peaks at them, adding his own comments to the rant. Rose stays silent but she is smiling. From time to time, the captain’s eyes will glance back at him for an instant. Maul has to stop himself from visibly reacting when he sees him laugh at something Cas says. The defector groans at the sound. He sniffs and slowly sits back up.

“How long did I sleep?” he rasps, stretching. He puts his face between his hands. “I feel so weird on this ship.”

“What do you mean?” Rose asks. The captains stills. Maul stares at him; the reaction is subtle but it seems important.

“I don’t know. I just—I feel like I’m running a fever or something except I don’t have one. My limbs feel heavy. You’re sure the grav is working well?”

“I can check but yeah,” Rose replies. The defector shrugs. He turns his head at Maul but does not say anything. The captain takes the pot and puts it at the centre of the table.

“You realize this is the first cooked meal I have in ages?” the defector says. He receives a quiet chuckle.

“What? Dameron doesn’t cook?” The reply is a mix of sounds that make no sense. “Well, it’s not much," the captain says. "When I woke up and understood that I couldn’t wait for rations to come out of nowhere, I started cooking. It was a disaster at first. It got better.”

Rose does not wait; she helps herself to a serving and says, “And _I_ am very happy about that.” The defector laughs. She takes Maul’s bowl without asking, serves him two spoonfuls, then hands it back to him with chopsticks. “Sorry, I’m too hungry,” she says when she lets go of the ladle to eat her own bowl. 

The defector scoffs. He takes the captain’s bowl. “Uh-uh. I see we’re playing favorites already.”

“You spend too much time with Poe,” she says, mouth full. “You’re taking on that Yavin tilt. Don’t do that, Finn.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it. That accent they have on Fest, though—this one I like. I like their accents, too,” she adds pointing at him and the captain.

“I think mine’s Concordian,” the captain comments. “Never been there, though.”

“You don’t want to?” the defector asks after serving them all water. “I’m sure you’d be welcome there. I mean, you _are_ Mandalorian, right?”

“Hah. That’d be new.” The captain stays silent for a moment then starts eating. Maul mimics him without thinking. The food is good—less spicy than he expected. “Jango Fett had been excommunicated before my time. The Mandalorians claimed he hadn’t even been one of them in the first place—that he’d stolen his armor. Clan Vhett died with him. His son was denied his heritage.” He shrugs. “Fett never claimed us anyway. We weren’t Mandalorian. No matter what they say now.”

“But you speak Mandalorian,” Rose says.

“Not all Huttese speakers are Hutts.”

“Jango Fett,” Maul says, looking at his own bowl. “Was he exiled to Concordia?”

“No, he was from Concord Dawn. He wasn’t Death Watch,” he tells him with a slight raise of his eyebrow. Maul hums. The captain snorts then says, “Contrary to some of the current ruling houses and clans. House Vizsla still wears the jai'galaar. I saw a clan wearing it too next to their signet—a mudhorn, I think. Never saw that one before.” He chuckles then points at Maul with his chopsticks. “You know, _you_ were Mand’alor for a time. Fierfek, I guess you could even challenge the current Mand’alor for the title.”

The defector’s eyes widen. He stares at Maul like he is something he never saw before. “Really?” he asks with surprise. “I thought Mandalorians hated the Sith. And the Jedi. And the Hutts.” He frowns. “They don’t like many people, do they?”

The captain snorts. “They’re warriors and they hold grudges from eons past. The Mand’alor now seems to hold them all together but it’s definitely something new. In my time, the ruling House was having trouble with Death Watch and the other clans were warring each other. Maul used this against them and took control of Mandalore in a matter of days. Mandalorian or not, he won the title. Technically, he has the right to challenge her authority.”

The defector looks at them with raised eyebrows. “Huh,” he says.

“The Mandalore has been ruling for decades now and she’s rarely challenged; they call her the Unifier. I doubt anyone will follow you,” Rose comments. She glances at him and winces. “Sorry.”

Maul sniffs. “I have no interest in her title,” he says, then realises he truly means it.

He loses track of the conversation, too shaken by the realisation. Why does he not want the title? He should want it. With it, he would gain power and the loyalty of a warrior people. Why does he not want it?

He startles when something brushes against his arm, almost falling on the ground. The captain is quick to help him regain his balance. “You’ve been spacing out for a while, now,” he says. “You need rest.”

Maul blinks. Cas, Rose and the defector are nowhere to be found. He had no idea they had left. The captain helps him stand up. He lets him without protesting. “If I carry you, are you going to try to kill me?” he asks wryly.

“Yes,” Maul replies at once. He scowls for good measure. “I can perfectly walk on my—”

His knees fail him. Again. He drops down; he does not fall on the ground only because the captain has good reflexes. Maul stays stubbornly silent while the captain smiles victoriously. Neither of them say anything.

The captain helps him walk to the medbay—he does not bother asking if he wants to go back to his cell. As it is, he would be incapable of climbing down the ladder. The medbay is not very far from the kitchen; he can see this clearly now that he is not struggling with each step he takes. Anger consumes him. How _u_ _seless_ he is. It is not even pain—this he could find strength in—no, his body is simply exhausted. There is nothing he can do. 

When they arrive at the medbay, his knees threaten to give out as soon as Maul sees the bed. The captain seems to notice it because he does not even try to be conspicuous about carrying him on his own and sitting him down on the bed. Maul scowls but does not comment on it.

The captain looks at him, shakes his head and says something in a language he does not understand. It must be Mandalorian.

“How many languages do you speak?” Maul asks before he can stop himself. For a couple of seconds, the man simply blinks at him. His eyes are brown. He never noticed.

“Er,” the captain says smartly. “Fluently? Only Mando’a and Basic but I know a bit of Huttese and I can understand Arconese. And one Delphidian dialect.” He gives him a small smile. “I’ve been trying to learn Sy Bisti.”

“Sy Bisti,” he repeats. He does not know this one. It is curious—he never noticed but the captain has facial hair. Maul wonders how it feels like.

“It’s a trade language in the Unknown Regions. You think there’s not much use for it until you meet a species who only speaks this and their own native tongue,” he huffs. He leans against the bed but does not sit. “What about you? How many languages do you speak?”

For a long while, Maul simply stares at him silently. “Huttese,” he says eventually. The captain nods, prompting him to speak more. He does not.

“And? I don’t believe for one second that you only speak two languages.” When he receives no reply, he snorts. “Alright, keep your secrets.”

Maul hums noncommittally. With a finger, he traces the captain’s jawline. It feels rough. He did not expect this. “What you said, before. It was in—” He stares at the floor, looking for the right word. “Mando’a?” His facial hair is softer on his temple. Curious.

“Wha—what?” the captain blurts out, blinking quickly. Maul scowls. Was his pronunciation this bad? “Sorry. Er. What did you say?”

“What you said, _earlier,_ ” he repeats with frustration. “Was it in Mandalorian?”

“ _Oh._ Er. Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Maul huffs, shaking his head, and lets his hand drop on his thigh. “Well?”

The captain grins and crosses his arms over his chest. Maul shifts on the bed, suddenly feeling unbalanced. “You only speak Huttese?” the captain asks again. 

“I understand Binary,” he volunteers, averting his gaze. The captain chuckles, making him tense. He shakes his head and mutters the words he said earlier in Mando’a. Maul blinks. “Gar di’kut,” he repeats, trying to let the sounds flow on his tongue.

“It means you’re stubborn,” is the captain’s reply. Somehow, judging by his smile, Maul thinks it is not entirely truthful. He does not comment on it. “Get some rest,” the man says, standing up and touching his shoulder. He squeezes then lets go. He could protest but the words seem to affect his body since it decides that rest is, indeed, a good idea.

A couple of minutes later, Maul feels like the captain's hand is still on his shoulder. He falls asleep on his side, legs dangling uselessly over the edge.

He’s woken up by the sound of rattling. Instinctively, he stays relaxed, not showing whomever is nearby that he regained consciousness. He is lying on his stomach. He can feel the bedsheets over his back. He is certain he did _not_ lie down on the bed properly on his own and certainly did _not_ pull the sheets up his lower half.

“Maul,” someone whispers, close to a hushed shout. Rose—he recognises her voice. “Are you awake?”

He sighs heavily.

“I am now,” he replies, eyes still closed. She hums in satisfaction. He can hear her walk towards him, until he can feel her weight leaning on _his_ bed. He scowls, refusing to move. “Why are you here.”

“I’m gonna have to turn off the artificial grav for a couple of hours because I can’t work around it,” she says without preamble. She sounds… resigned. He huffs then turns his head towards her. “It would be much easier if we had a functioning hyperdrive.”

“We do not have one at all,” he reminds her, sighing again. “What do you want.” He pushes himself up on his hands and blinding pain overtakes him. He tries to stand still. His body fails him; he drops back down. He growls, tries to get up again but fails. 

“What’s wrong?” Rose asks immediately. He ignores her and pushes himself up on his hands. He feels electrical currents in his spine, making all of his muscles tense and all his nerves light up. He hisses in surprise; his elbows give out and he falls down again. He tries _again_ but fails, gritting his teeth and growling. “Stop!” Rose exclaims, putting her hand between his shoulderblades, pinning him to the mattress. He freezes, surprised. “Where does it hurt?”

He does not reply. After half a minute spent in silence, she sighs but does not take her hand back. Maul does not know what to do. He… does not want to hurt her. He does not understand why. He does not know her. She is one of her captors. He should get rid of her and find a way out. Why is he not moving?

He is still engrossed in his thoughts when the captain bursts in. “What happened?” he says in a rush, going straight to the side of the bed where his seat is but, instead of sitting down, he crouches so that they are at eye level. Maul feels enraged by it. He tries to stand up again—a failure. He cannot get up. He cannot—

Fear overtakes him. He is trapped. His breathing starts quickening, muscles tensing once again, and he has to choke down a whine.

“Get the emdee,” the captain barks. Rose stands up; he can hear her walk away briskly. Maul cannot stand up. The captain places a hand on his forearm and says, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I cannot feel my legs,” Maul replies through clenched teeth. His fingers are shaking. He cannot control them. “I do not feel my legs.” He sees the captain’s eyes slide to his lower half; Maul’s hands twitch, the urge to attack encompassing. He is too vulnerable. He tenses, ready to pounce when the captain’s hidden hand appears in his visual field, expecting a blow. He receives none—the hand only settles on the bed right next to his face.

“Hey, hey,” the captain says harshly. “Stop moving. You’re only going to hurt yourself more.” His jaw clenches. 

“Move away, please,” the droid says, coming into the medbay. The captain’s eyes follow it but he does not budge.

“No hypo,” the captain says, eyes glancing back at Maul. 

“I cannot work if he is tense,” the droid replies tersely. “I need full cooperation.”

“No hypo. He won’t put up a fight,” the captain states, giving him a minute nod, a silent demand for confirmation. Maul wants to snarl but he does not—he slows down his breathing, wills his hearts to adopt a more moderate pace and his muscles relax at once. Head dropping back on the pillow, he glares at the captain and stops himself from tensing when he feels the droid’s hands on his back, peeling the gauze off his spine. Fingertips circle _something_ attached to him. When they graze it, he loses sight.

It feels exactly like his Master’s Force lightning.

“Keep him steady,” the droid says, its voice echoing from far away. Maul can feel his throat vibrating. He must be screaming. He can feel hands on his skin, pushing, blocking, stopping him from moving. His instincts tell him to throw them off at all cost. Four sets of hands, three organic—one of them slides on his nape then fingers settle around his horns, applying pressure. He tries to fight against it but his body does not respond to his commands. He feels young again, stripped of his means of achieving freedom, weak and defenceless. The pain becomes a reminder of his failure. 

How did his original self feel when he realised he was doomed to fail? What were his thoughts when he realised the Jedi won? How did it feel to lose his legs?

The hand keeping his head down has a steady grip—not as harsh as it should be to constrict him. It is too small to be the captain’s or the defector’s. A small, organic hand. It has to be Rose’s. Maul does not understand what she is trying to achieve; he could easily harm her or, at the very least, push her off. Her thumb is doing something—a circling motion he does _not_ know how to handle. He can feel his spine instinctively relax even if the situation calls for nothing but rebellion. Her fingertip presses on the base of one of his horns, where bone meets flesh—subtle movements with no rhythmic pattern. It calls on an instinct, buried deep inside him, to relax and submit. He hates it with his entire being. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers; she seems closer to his face than he expected. Her voice drowns every other sound in the bay; he cannot hear the droid anymore, nor his own gasps and pants, nor the constant chatter of the men apparently monitoring his most minute reactions. His hands twitch, spams that he cannot control, and he can feel his muscles unclench of their own volition.

“Stop this,” he snarls and regrets it immediately. Now, Rose knows her methods are effective. 

“You need to relax,” she says with a sigh. “Ceebee can’t find what’s wrong with you if you don’t.” She does something with her fingers, touching the base of one horn and squeezing, getting a whimper out of him. He clasps his mouth shut, horrified. “You can hate me later,” she says and he does not discern resent nor anger in her tone. “Just focus on me right now.”

She does something again and he gasps, hands clawing at the sheets. He blinks and the light in the medbay blinds him at once; suddenly every senses feel invaded and overwhelmed. He can smell fear and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that it is mostly his own, mixed with the disgusting smells of bacta, sweat and the acrid scent of anxious mammals. He tries to bury his nose in his pillow but Rose’s grip on his head is firm and steady, stopping him from moving any further. He tries to move one of his hands to swat hers away but something stops him, pinning his hand right next to his face. He growls, ready to bite—

Rose presses on the base of another horn and he inhales sharply. That smell—the one invading his senses right now, he knows it. Maul chases it, trying to move his neck as much as he can until he touches whatever is blocking his hand on the mattress and he breathes in, humming in satisfaction. Suddenly, Rose’s touch does not seem so dangerous anymore.

“Do not move your arm,” Maul hears the droid say. Then, closer, “Focus on the scent, sir.”

And Maul does; he tunes out everything else around him and focuses solely on it. He enters a meditative state, where pain is not at the forefront of his mind, and for a long time he escapes. Even without the Force, it is not as difficult to achieve as he thought. Perhaps it is easier knowing his Master cannot sense him doing it. 

He does not know how long he stays like this. Eventually, he feels something brush against his cheek. Maul hums in question, not knowing if he has to move quickly to avoid an attack. Oddly, even if his instincts tell him to _move,_ he is reluctant to do so.

He opens one eye and is greeted by the sight of the captain staring at him with a small frown. “Hey,” the man whispers with a smile that does not reach his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he admits, mumbling. He nuzzles up against his pillow and inhales deeply, his body seeking comfort however he can find it. 

They spend a long moment in silence.

“What happened?” he asks, eventually. He receives no reply. He blinks in confusion, raises his head and freezes, eyes widening.

The captain is sound asleep, sitting on his chair but his head lies on Maul’s bed. His arm is extended so that Maul can use it as a pillow. He has been nuzzling the captain’s arm. He… does not know what to do with the information. He averts his gaze, feeling distressed; his heartbeats quicken and he releases a shaky breath. 

Exhaustion is dragging him back to sleep. He can feel his head dropping back down without him intending to. He wants to growl in anger. How useless he is.

But the captain sighs in his sleep and it breaks something inside him—he stops resisting. Maul slides closer to him, lips brushing his hair, driven by the urge to seek him out, to bask in his peacefulness. He breathes in deeply and stops fighting against his body. For the first time since he woke up in the ship, he feels calm.

He falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: body dysphoria, gore, graphic depiction of violence, nightmare, panic attack, non-consensual touch, trauma
> 
> If Rex says di'kut means stubborn then I guess KT was wrong or maybe my mans being worse than google translate on purpose


	7. Yavin-4

Their General just landed with General Dameron’s astromech. As soon as he did, the war room was filled with eager medics wanting an update on the Sith’s health plus their own group, although they stayed together and apart from the others.

They have a right to be here because their General is here. They know some of the others don’t like this accord but their General says it’s because they need to learn. Rex told them it’s what shinies do; they follow the more experienced and adapt.

“Yeah, he’s rejecting the implant,” one of the medics says. It’s the one who came up with the idea. “It should get better, though, until it stops working.”

“And then?” their General asks, jaw clenched. He seems much more tense since he came back.

“Then we either try with another one or he’s dead. Seeing how he's reacting, the chances that he'll reject a new implant right away are high. There’s nothing else we can do if your—” he glances at them warily. “If your, er,  _ cadets _ couldn’t find anything. I don’t know what to tell you.”

And they tried. They really tried—but there was  _ nothing _ left to find. The Kaminoans buried their facilities several decades ago and dedicated themselves to rebuilding and readapting their ways since their society used to thrive mostly thanks to cloning. The late Empire shut down the thing they relied the most on, forcing them to resort to other means to support themselves. Military hardware exports became their everything—which, ironically, helped them thrive during the Imperial Era but led them to bankruptcy when the Rebellion won. Unfortunately for them, the Republic decided not to do business with them afterwards and the First Order never even considered them. Kamino is now nothing more than yet another world pushed to the side in favor of richer ones that can thrive and help the Republic flourish. 

Suffice to say the cloning facilities became their biggest disappointment and shame—and for a people that look down on religions and superstitions, it is a bit laughable how they quickly buried the whole thing and now avoid to even go near it at all costs.

When they arrived, there was nothing left but corrupted data, useless trinkets that must be important to Kaminoan culture but had little to no interest to them, and the restless ghosts of their ancestors. The only thing of value they learned is that, no matter the era, the galaxy never saw them as much more than faceless soldiers.

“He’s definitely not what I expected,” their General says once the medics cleared the room.

“In a good way or bad way?” General Dameron asks, arms crossed. “Please tell me it’s in a good way.”

“I don’t know, Poe.” He sighs heavily. “Maul is… I don’t know.”

“What? He’s a nerf herder? Or no, no—he's like a Naboo handmaiden!”

“A what?”

“A Naboo handmaiden,” General Dameron repeats. No one understands what this is supposed to be. “It’s—they used to be the Queen’s aides and also her bodyg—you know what, nevermind, it’s a bad analogy. Is he going to be a Kylo Ren?”

“No.” Their General shakes his head. They all relax at that. If he is certain about it then they don’t doubt it for a second. It’s dangerous to rely too much on someone like they do, they all know, but with him it’s different. If their General says the Sith isn’t going to be like the Supreme Leader then they’re inclined to believe it. “But apparently he could become the next Mandalore?”

General Dameron laughs. When he notices he is the only one, he stops, blinking at the other man. “You’re joking.” No reply. “Oh, no. Oh, great.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. “Finn—what did we get ourselves into? Rey is going to kill us if we screw this up.”

“No, she won’t.”

“No, she won’t but I don’t want to screw this up. She’s going to be sad if we screw this up.” He sighs heavily. Their General takes his wrist in his hand and gives him a soft smile, the one that makes anyone feel better when it's directed at them. “I just want her to be happy when she comes home.”

“Home?” he asks with a frown on his face. “I thought Yavin-4 was your home.”

General Dameron was born on Yavin-4. This is how you know this is his home. Home is where someone is born. If you don’t remember where you were born, then you have no home. They all know this; if they remembered, maybe they could have gone back home. As it is, none of them remember so they can’t go home because they don’t have one.

“Well, this is where you live now,” General Dameron with a shrug gesturing at the whole room. “So it’s my home too.” He takes a step forward and smiles. “We decide where home is.”

“Oh. So home is here?”

“Yeah. If you live here, then it’s here.”

  
  
  


The following days are something. Everything is going well at the base but they all feel sad. Their General always seems busy. General Dameron spends time with them but he doesn’t talk as much as he usually does. When they ask him why they both act so strangely, he tells them it’s because they don’t want Maul to die.

“But, sir—He’s a Sith,” Ack retorts. “Aren’t they our enemies?”

General Dameron shrugs. He’s been peeling meilooruns and giving them to Tex and Spanner to cut into small chunks. It goes well with ohcarrob letsap. They don’t know what ohcarrob letsap is but if General Dameron wants to eat meilooruns with it then they will help cut them into chunks. “I don’t know, Ack,” he says, focused on the fruit in his hand. “I think they’re all dead, now, so they can’t really be anyone’s enemies anymore, yeah? I don’t think Maul likes them any more than we do, you know.”

“No, sir,” she mutters. They’ve been told to say things even if they might get reprimanded for them. It’s not easy but Ack’s always been a fast learner. “I don’t.”

General Dameron smiles at her and nods in approval. “It’s alright.” He elbows her softly. “We think he’s been trained by Palpatine since he was very young. He didn’t know anything else.”

“Like us.”

“Yeah, buddy.” He nods, eyes on the fruit in his hands. “Just like you.” They all fall silent for a while.

Maybe Maul doesn’t remember where home is either. And even if he did, what’s the point? There’s probably nothing left now. If there was, he wouldn’t be here. He’d probably be dead by now, rotting where his home is supposed to be.

Since he was born on Kamino, it should be his home. It doesn't really feel right, though. 

“What’s occrab—” Holo blurts out, feeling brave enough to ask. “Occarab—”

“Ohcarrob letsap?” When he receives multiple nods, he grins. “It’s a Yavinese cake. My dad taught me. I think you’re going to like it.”

Food is very important to General Dameron. They can tell when he is happy; he cooks for those around him. If he is worried, he doesn’t cook but he makes tea for everyone who wants some. The last two months, he’s made tea every evening but didn’t cook at all.

They don’t think he’s happy right now. But their General told them sometimes you should do things that make you happy even if you aren’t. This is probably what he is doing. They like when he is happy so they help him as much as they can.

It turns out ohcarrob letsap is really, really good. They share with their General. He likes it a lot too.

“We’ll find something,” he tells them, when they ask about the Sith. He gives them a big smile. They all feel happier after that. “We specialize in unconventional, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Sometimes the Wook gives me great stuff and sometimes I just want Poe to make pastel borracho because it’s good and I love it


	8. Kijimi

  
  
  
  


“I can perfectly walk on my own,” he snarls. Cas throws her hands in the air and scoffs.

“Why are you being so slow, then?” she snaps. “Get up. We have much to discuss.”

Maul contemplates throwing his pillow at her, despite the fact that it would not affect her in the slightest. If anything, she will probably enjoy getting a rise out of him. He refuses to sit up and stops himself from sighing. Ever since he has been able to sleep outside the medbay, Cas has been insufferable. Rose says she is fussing over him because she is worried. Maul is positive she just enjoys being a nuisance.

“I have no interest in the Imperial Senate which, if you may recall, collapsed three decades ago,” he says through gritted teeth, staring at the ceiling. No visible bolts. Unsettling at first but he is used to it now. “I also fail to see why I should learn about a planet that has been obliterated by my replacement.”

“It was General Tarkin,” Cas retorts. “This is why. You don’t learn anything. You don’t even listen to me.”

“I wish,” he mutters through his breath.

She takes away his sheets in a swift motion. “Next time, it’s your pants,” she warns. He scoffs.

“I would like to see you try,” he snarls, sitting up and baring his teeth.

“No fighting!” Rose shouts from the sparring room and Maul’s fists clench. “I didn’t even have breakfast yet!”

“He does not want to—”

“ _After_ breakfast, Cas,” Rose cuts her off, walking to them. She is holding a towel that she threw around her neck. She likes to stretch in the morning. Sometimes, Maul joins her and, if he performs kata, she tries to mimic him. After several days of fumbling, he started to teach her the basics of Teräs Käsi. She is… determined but impatient. “Come on. It’s ready,” she tells him then walks away. “Don’t forget to put on a shirt!” 

“Why does she ask you that?” Cas asks. Maul looks at her and scowls. He has no idea why Rose keeps reminding him. “You always wear one.” He nods.

He tries not to dwell too much on it; there are many things Rose says that do not make sense. What he is certain of is that, no matter how baffling her words can be, she never has bad intentions. It is… strange. He has never met anyone like her.

Cas’ fingers tap on her crossed arms in thought, taking all of his attention. “What if you don’t wear one,” she mutters as a suggestion. He gives her a narrow look. “I want to see if something happens.”

“What could happen?” He scoffs. She shrugs.

“I don’t know. That’s why you’re not going to wear one.”

“Oh?” He scoffs again. “And why would I—”

“I won’t talk about the Imperial Senate anymore.”

Maul pretends to mull it over. “Very well,” he mutters, getting up. He forgoes a shirt and pads barefooted to the ladder, leaving Cas behind. He climbs up to the kitchen. Rose is still in the shower; the captain is here, however. He is cooking.

“Good morning,” he says, without looking at Maul. “Did you two have an argument already?”

He scoffs but stays silent. He need not say anything because, once Cas is here, she will recollect their entire exchange so she can complain about him. He walks next to the captain and opens the compartments where the bowls are. He takes three and puts the rest where Rose can easily get them. If he puts them back she will have to stand on tiptoe. She will not complain but he noticed it is often the case.

“Ah, yeah, I forgot ab— _fierfek,_ ” the captain exclaims. Maul’s eyes slide to him and he tilts his head in confusion.

“What is it,” he asks, growing suspicious when the captain keeps staring at the pot, avoiding his gaze. Maul scowls. “Captain.”

The man abruptly puts a spoon in front of Maul’s face. “Tell me if I can spice it up.” For a long moment, Maul does not understand what he is supposed to do. “Try it,” the captain says, tilting the spoon towards him. Maul blinks. He gives him a narrow look, raises his hand to steady the captain’s and opens his mouth, tasting today’s breakfast. He hums. 

“More spice,” he says, tongue darting to lick the spoon clean. The captain’s hand clench beneath his. 

“Okay,” the captain rasps. He does not move. Maul stares at him. “Do you. Er.” He clears his throat. His fingers are twitching slightly. “Do you need anything?” 

Maul releases him. “No,” he replies. “Do you want to spar?”

“What— _now_?” the captain blurts out. “But we haven—”

Maul scoffs. “After,” he says. He thought it was obvious. When the captain nods silently, he bares his teeth in satisfaction. The other man stiffens; it is subtle but Maul notices. Good. If he is on edge then their spar will be fruitful. He grazes his wrist with the back of his fingers and the captain reacts immediately—he breathes in sharply and his eyes widen. Maul grins in anticipation. It will definitely be a fruitful spar.

Rose walks in and snorts. “Are you taking a _holo_?” she asks.

“No,” Cas replies. Maul blinks and turns back. He has no idea when she arrived. “I am merely analyzing new data.”

He glares at her but says nothing. Rose pads to him, takes one bowl and says, “Can I have just two spoonfuls now and another later on?”

“Er, sure,” the captain responds, serving her immediately. “It's not fully cooked, though. You got something to do?”

“Yep.” She takes one look at Maul, raises an eyebrow and sighs. “A rebel at heart,” she says, shaking her head, a soft smile gracing her face. 

Then, she does something that makes him tense in alarm—she takes a step towards him and places her lips on his shoulder. The action is sudden; he has no time to react—Rose makes some kind of suction with her closed lips then leaves before he can do anything.

For a long moment, he stands still. What was the meaning of this? She did not even bite him. What did she try to accomplish?

“It’s a kiss,” Cas says. “Some species do it to show affection. Humans are among them. Zabraks nuzzle. Humans kiss.”

Maul does not know how to react. He settles on anger.

“She likes you,” the captain says. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, Maul.” When he receives no response, he sighs heavily. He puts the heat on low and seals the pot. “It will be better if we let it simmer for at least an hour.” He glances at Maul quickly and raises an eyebrow. “We could spar in the meantime.”

Maul nods sharply.

He is pinning the captain down against the mats for the third time when he hears him laugh. “Kark, you’re good,” he says breathlessly with a wide smile. Maul tightens his hold on his wrists and chuckles, leaning in.

“Yield,” he whispers against the captain’s neck, taking in a deep breath. His own hearts are hammering, blood singing with victory. The feeling he gets every time he wins against the captain knows no comparison. “Yield,” he repeats, savouring the word on his tongue. The captain swallows, throat bobbing, and Maul can feel his skin graze his lips. He freezes.

“Alright,” the captain rasps. Maul does not move. His hands clench on the captain’s wrists. “Maul?” He leans in and lets his lips brush his skin again. He can hear the gasp he elicits from the captain. His jugular is pumping hard against his mouth. “Maul,” the captain calls, his voice almost a whisper. He hums in response and his tongue darts, tasting the skin. He can feel the captain writhing beneath him. Maul’s thumbs brush the insides of his wrists and he nips at his throat to calm him down. “Maul—” the captain gasps, stilling. Maul growls in satisfaction. He inhales sharply, his senses focusing on the captain's neck, the feel of his skin against his lips, his tongue, the faint beating of his heart. He shivers in delight; his lower abdominal muscles clench on their own and he is suddenly flooded with want and desire.

Maul recoils, heartbeats ringing loud in his ears, eyes wide. He blinks, trying to understand what happened. He jumped at least three metres away without realising. The captain is staring back at him, panting heavily. The skin on his chest is two tones darker. Maul grits his teeth and wills his body to regain better control. He extinguishes any… _involuntary reactions_ before they can cloud his judgement. He stands up abruptly and leaves without a word, straight to the refresher.

Once the door is closed, Maul clenches all of his muscles simultaneously, trying to quash the feeling. His skin feels overheated; he leans back against the door to cool down. He shivers impulsively then scowls. It is having the opposite effect.

A nagging thought invades his mind. Right now, he is alone. No one can hear him here. At least, he does not think so. He swallows heavily. His skin feels tight and on fire. Testing out, he lets his fingertips graze his arm. The reaction is not as strong as he thought; somehow, his body prefers this when it comes from the captain.

This thought, however, gains a reaction. Suddenly he shivers thinking about—about what happened. He swallows around nothing and breathes heavily. He does not think; running on instinct, Maul closes his eyes, sets his hands on his abdomen and trails upwards. Heat comes in waves, for each brush he gets shivers. The door feels colder; he lets his head drop backwards and hears his horns rattling against it. A sound comes out of his throat without his approval. He bites his lip. This is not a good idea.

He abruptly stands back up straight and pushes the button to activate the sonic. He is better than this—better than an animal running on instincts. He tightens his muscles and fixates on anger. 

He storms out of the refresher infuriated; lucky for the captain that he is not here because Maul would have decked him just for the sake of it.

There is someone in the sparring room. It is not the captain—her feet are too light on the mats. He is naked. He needs to find clothes. He opens the compartment and puts on the first pair of pants he can find, fuming.

“Maul?” Rose says. He stands still. Her voice is odd. He looks back and she comes into his line of sight, her head darting in his room. She leans on the doorway but does not step. She is wringing her hands together—he narrows his eyes at this. Why is she nervous? “Can I come in?” she asks. It is the first time she does. He nods silently, distraught. The oddness of her attitude mutes his anger.

She steps inside and looks around, as if seeing this room for the first time. She does not usually participate to his… _lessons_ with Cas and the captain but she has been here many times; when he meditates, she likes to stay nearby and dismantles every piece of technology she can find, only to put them back together and, sometimes, add something to them or even ask for his help or his opinion. They found common interests in mechanics very early on and she has never been shy about talking with him. Why is she acting like this? What changed that Maul cannot see?

Rose crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the holotable. If Cas sees her, she will make a fuss about it. Maul cannot seem to tell her this; his throat is tight, stopping any word from coming out.

“My sister was usually the one to do the talking,” she says with a small laugh. Maul dips his chin.

“Was,” he repeats. She nods. Her smile does not reach her eyes.

“She died,” she tells him, voice void of emotion. “Fighting the First Order.”

He does not say anything. After a moment, Rose clears her throat. 

“We grew up on an ice planet. We had to live underground most of the time. It wasn’t the high life but it was ours,” she says.

“Why are you telling me this,” he asks through gritted teeth. He clenches his fists, stopping himself from pacing. If he does, Rose will be afraid.

Anger flares inside him. Why does he care about this? He starts pacing. “Why are you telling me this?” he snarls.

Rose does not react. Maul almost falters when he notices. He bares his teeth in frustration.

“Because we’ve been living here for months now,” she says, voice unwavering. “And I’d like to think we became friends.”

Maul replies nothing and simply stares at her.

“I’m afraid,” she admits. Before he can react, she says, “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid _for_ you.”

He scoffs. Ridiculous. Why would she be?

“Neither you nor the captain will win,” he tells her, a warning. His fists clench without him meaning to and suddenly he stands still. He does not want her to try to fight him. He does not want to fight her at all. “You cannot win, Rose.”

She shakes her head and sighs. “I’m not going to fight you,” she mutters. His shoulders relax fractionally. “We can’t stay here forever, you know? One day or another, we’re gonna have to leave.”

“Leave,” he repeats, the rhythm of his heartbeats quickening. Rose shrugs.

“Well, yeah. You know everything you need to know. It’s a matter of weeks now.” She pushes herself off the holotable and takes a couple of steps toward him. He does not move. She nods, offers him a small smile, then slowly walks until they are at close quarters. “You need to see the galaxy. I heard it changed a lot,” she says with a small smile. 

Maul stares for a long moment. “They will not let me leave,” he tells her. It took him weeks to accept the fact that this is an experiment not condoned by his Master but that it is still an experiment nonetheless. Maul does not believe politicians changed much in half a century; there is little chance they will ever see him as someone able to fit into society. Not if they have no way of controlling him. 

If Maul escapes, he will not let anyone take away his freedom. Not again. He has no doubt the New Republic knows this all too well.

“Do you not understand?” He huffs. “From the moment they found me, my fate was sealed. I will never be free.”

Rose does something he does not expect; she closes the distance between them then curls her arms around his waist. He tenses immediately, ready to throw her off him, but stops. She does nothing more. She simply stays like this.

“I won’t let them do this,” she says, voice muffled against his chest. Maul does not know what to do.

“Then you are a fool,” he tells her. Her hold on him tightens but she remains silent.

They stay like this for a long moment. He feels her going more and more lax, until it becomes obvious she is falling asleep. He sighs, closing his eyes. Maul debates with himself for a couple of seconds then runs on instinct; he picks her up and deposits her on his bed. “Sleep,” he says then leaves the room before questioning his actions. His eyes remain steadily on the floor when he crosses the sparring room; he climbs up the ladder and takes a look around the kitchen. No one. He goes straight to the table where the pot is set. There is a clean bowl next to it. Maul is hungry. He helps himself to a generous spoonful of stew and eats. He closes his eyes and hums. Even cold, it is very good.

Afterwards, he meditates. There is a moment when he is not sure whether to go back to the cargo space. He would rather not stay in the sparring room and Rose is sleeping. He decides to stay in the kitchen. After perhaps a couple of hours, Rose comes in. She asks if he wants to meditate in his room while she works on a new project. He nods silently.

Maul does not see the captain for the rest of the cycle. He does not see him for the following cycle, nor the one succeeding it. There is always food and Maul can train on his own or teach Rose. Cas keeps pestering him with senatorial debates. Rose works close by. The captain is nowhere to be seen. No one comments on it.

It takes six cycles before he sees him again. Maul comes into the kitchen, only to see him cooking, softly humming. For a moment, he freezes. The captain looks at him as soon as he does.

“Hello,” he says. Maul only blinks. 

“If you don’t take it off now, it will burn,” Cas informs him. The captain startles and puts one of the two pans away. Maul clenches his jaw but says nothing. “I am not setting the table for you.”

He glares at Cas then sets himself into motion, taking three bowls out of the compartment and puts them on the table. He forgot the chopsticks. He turns back and stands still when he sees the captain almost coming into contact with him, a pot in his hands. Maul feels rooted to the floor, unable to move, staring at him. 

“I’m going to the cockpit,” Cas states, getting up and leaving towards the medbay. The captain splutters.

“But I need someone to cut the roo—”

“Ask him, then!” she says from the other room. “I am not a servant droid and he’s the one who is going to eat anyway!”

The captain stares at the doorway for a long moment then insults her in Huttese.

“I do not think she has a mother,” Maul says wryly, giving him a narrow look. 

“Yeah, well, she understands what I’m trying to say.” He sighs heavily. He glances at Maul. “Would you mind cutting the roots in small chunks?”

Maul blinks but feels himself nodding. The captain smiles and suddenly his throat constricts. “No bigger than this,” he says, placing his own thumb between two fingers to show him the desired length. Maul stares at them silently.

He sits where Cas was, and looks at the tubers in front of him. He has no idea where to start.

“Here,” the captain says, startling him. He is handing him a knife. “Don’t peel them.”

He takes the knife and tries not to show how clueless he feels. If he were asked to peel them, he is not sure he would have been able to.

Cutting is easy—Maul is used to being precise with a knife. His skills were not honed with cutting food in mind but they are still to his advantage. After he is done, he looks at his work, feeling oddly satisfied. When he looks up, the captain is already watching him.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the chunks and putting them slowly into the steaming pot. “Could you help me out here?”

Maul gets up to stand besides him, waiting for instructions. While stirring, the captain says, “Put these into the pot—one at a time.”

Almost lulled by this surreal scene, Maul follows the captain’s instructions to the letter. He adds vegetables, spices then stirs whenever the other man needs to find something they do not have nearby. It takes him almost half an hour to realise the captain could have done everything by himself.

“—to be careful when you let it simmer,” the man continues while Maul stirs, “Otherwise the momadrac burns and the whole pot is done for.” He steps besides him to add another spice, hand settling on Maul’s shoulder. He can feel his arm against his back. “You just add a pinch and—we’re good.”

Maul turns his head towards him and asks, “Shall I keep stirring?”

The captain’s eyes slide to his face and he freezes at once, the hand on Maul’s shoulder clutching tightly. “You. Er.” He blinks in a quick succession. His eyelashes are as dark as his irises. He never noticed. The captain licks his lower lip; Maul's eyes focus on the motion almost instinctively. He feels shivers slowly running up his spine from the small of his back.

“Captain?” he asks, voice rough. The arm curled around his shoulderblades feels like a scorching brand; small tingles go through his pectorals and he has to suppress a full body shiver. He releases a small, shaky breath, feels the skin around his ribs tighten, the back of his head heating up. He blinks, overwhelmed by sensations, inhaling sharply and he regrets it immediately. The smell of food hits his nostrils but seems weak compared to the captain’s scent. The hand stirring the pot stills and he leans closer instinctively, breathing in.

“Maul,” he hears the captain say and closes his eyes, letting the new sensations wash over him, feeling the captain’s breath against his skin. 

“Spar with me,” he commands in a whisper. He looks at his throat, sees it bobbing up and down, waiting for confirmation.

“Okay,” the captain rasps. Maul hums in satisfaction, eyes sliding to the pot. He leans towards it and breathes in.

“Is it almost ready?” Rose asks, walking in. 

“Almost,” he replies, ignoring the way the captain flinches away in surprise. Maul looks at her as she sits down and smiles at him. “Shall I keep stirring?” he asks again.

“Er, no, no.”

Maul nods, releasing the spoon, and goes to the table, sitting down silently. Rose hands him a bowl, which he takes gracefully.

“Did I tell you about the time Finn met Han Solo?” she starts. He shakes his head. “Apparently he was trying to con the Guavian Death Gang _and_ Kanjiklub.”

“The Guavian, huh,” the captain comments from his spot. He is leaning against the counter, next to the pot. Rose perks up.

“Bad run-in?” The captain snorts.

“You could say that,” he mutters. “They’re trying to take over the Hutts’ slave trade. The spice trade is mostly controlled by the Kijimi runners and the Pykes so there’s not much left if they don’t want to step into Kanjiklub’s territories. They still have to fight off the Zygerrians but their power has been waning. They’ll gain control soon enough.”

“I didn’t know that,” Rose mutters, frowning even more. “How do you know all that?”

“Pirate, remember?” he shrugs. “I’m not dealing with schuttaa who use children for profit.”

Maul gives him a narrow look. The captain is tense, more than he can usually be, jaw clenched but his face is lax. He is hiding his anger. “You killed them,” he says, the realisation dawning on him. “Those you encountered.”

The captain turns back to the pot. “They were using children,” he mutters, neither a confirmation nor a denial. Maul observes him silently.

“Well,” Rose says slowly. “If it makes you happier, Finn told me those he met were eaten by rathtars.”

“ _Rathtars_?” the captain asks, turning around, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Han Solo was smuggling some.”

The captain splutters. “Why would he do that? That’s insane!” Rose giggles suddenly, surprising Maul.

“I know!” she says then proceeds to laugh.

Their conversation flows easily after that. Maul mostly listens. When the captain brings the pot to the table, Rose serves them all and hums in delight when she tries it out. It is good. Very good. The captain gives him glances when he tastes the cooked roots. Maul hums in approval, catching the captain’s responding smile, even if he tries to hide it behind his bowl.

“I can’t believe you’re a pirate sometimes,” Rose blurts out while they are all eating.

“Me neither,” the captain says with a small snort. “I was lost when I woke up. And Ithano is a decent being.”

“Do you plan on going back with your crew?” 

For a long moment, the captain stays silent. “I don’t know,” he says eventually. “Haven’t really thought about it. I’m not sure this is the life I want for myself.”

“What do you want?” Maul asks. The captain stares back at him.

“I—” he averts his gaze, eyes fixed on his empty bowl. “I’m not sure.”

Rose extends her hand and squeezes his arm. “You could stay with us back at the base until you figure it out. I’m sure Finn will be happy to have you.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “We’ll see.”

They do spar afterwards. The captain is vicious; Maul’s blood sings. He has not felt this alive for many cycles. He gets thrown on the mats multiple times and, after a particularly surprising move that speaks of quick thinking and incredible reflexes, Maul finds himself smashed face down first on the ground. He rolls on his back and laughs, letting go of his building excitement and adrenaline rush. The captain is looming over him, body tense with exertion, teeth bared in a victorious grin. Maul hums in satisfaction at the sight.

“I yield,” he says and the captain looms over him.

“You weren't expecting that, yeah?” the man says, leaning in, raising an eyebrow. He looks proud of himself. “I can still surprise you.”

Maul stares at him and feels a spike of fear run through him. “You can,” he mutters without thinking. He has the urge to touch the captain’s face—not to hurt, not to gain advantage. Just to feel his skin under his hand. He does not understand why.

Why is he unable to control his emotions when he is with the captain? Why is he able to when he is with Rose?

“Captain,” he begins to say then falls silent. The man’s eyes widen; he jerks back abruptly and stands up swiftly.

“Right,” he says, covering his nape with his hand. “I, er. Shower.” He does not leave.

Suddenly Maul misses his connection to the Force fiercely. He wants to know why the captain looks at him like this. He wants to find out what he is missing. He wants to be able to feel the world around him—to be able to feel Rose nearby without seeing her, to be able to feel when a ship passes next to them without seeing it through a viewport, to be simply able to feel without seeing.

He stares at the captain for an eternity, trying to quench any visible reaction. He must come to accept the fact that he may not be able to feel the Force anymore. The prospect fills him with anger and despair.

Without it, Maul will never be free.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The autocorrect keeps trying to replace Guavian by Guacamole for some reason and I keep laughing because the image of Bala-Tik, leader of the Guacamole Death Gang with their green helmets, telling Han Solo "Tell that to Kanjiklub" then fighting against the rathtars by shooting avocadoes out of his blaster is living rent free in my mind


	9. Hays Minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Maul have nipples? Yes, folks, important questions asked today. I am truly wondering because it looks like he doesn't in the comics—which... Why? Were they afraid of drawing nipples on Darth Maul? Did Blorge Glucas say nipples were not for Sith Lords??¿ I assume Iridonian Zabraks _do_ have nipples so why Human-Zabrak hybrids would not? Did the Nightsisters decide nipples were only for the afab? 🤔
> 
> Anyway, I am looking for Maul's nipples; if you see them, please contact me. thank you

“Someone worked out early this morning!”

He hears the soft footsteps of Rose coming closer. She lies down on a mat next to him. Her hair tickles his shoulder. She sighs.

“You smell,” she says. He turns his head to look at her; her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Go shower, stink man.”

Maul rolls his eyes but still sits up. She laughs. “What,” he mutters.

“I never saw you roll your eyes before,” she says with a wide grin. He shrugs. “It suits you.”

He huffs. “If you say so.”

When he comes out of the refresher, Cas is already waiting for him at the holotable. 

“We’re going to talk about the senators in office,” she informs him. He scoffs. “Don’t complain. This is current information and you will need it.”

“I fail to see why,” he snarls. Cas crosses her arms and tilts her head.

“You do realize you will face the Senate? You do realize how important it is to learn who will be your strongest opponents?”

“Why would I?” he sneers. Anger overwhelms him; suddenly Maul is filled with rage. He circles the holotable, furiously pacing, feeling the urge to get out. “I will be a prisoner for the rest of my life. They will never let me out!” 

Behind him, he hears Rose padding closer to him, slowly. “Do not say anything,” he warns through gritted teeth. She stays silent. He stiffens when he feels her arms embracing his waist from behind. Her head rests between his shoulder blades. He does not push her away. “Stop this,” he sneers. Her arms move—her hold on him relaxes and her hands slip away. He latches onto one of her wrists, stopping her from retreating any further. Slowly, she tightens her embrace once again. Maul stays silent. 

“Interesting,” Cas says dismissively then activates the holotable to show them the most prominent senators in office. He listens to her silently, Rose a solid weight against his back. The captain does not show up. 

The following morning, when Maul wakes up, he knows something is wrong. He sits up, looks around.

The captain is here, sitting at the edge of his bed, observing him. He raises his hand and his finger grazes Maul’s arm. His knuckle trails higher where he is unmarked, tracing an inexisting pattern as if painting it on his skin. He does not say anything. Maul follows the finger with his eyes, sees it going higher and higher until it settles on his shoulder. Once he cannot see it without tilting his head, he stares at the captain, who is already watching him. He holds his gaze, unflinching, even when he feels not simply his finger but his whole hand covering his shoulder. Maul tenses. The brutal grip he expects never comes. He is confused but refuses to show it. 

Maul readies himself for the eventuality of a fight. The hand slides down on his chest, creates shivers that he has to extinguish before they may become noticeable. His touch never turns violent. Maul does not understand.

The captain brushes his collarbone, the tips of his fingers on his throat, a dangerous gesture that Maul does not try to stop. He does not understand why. The hand twists, goes lower, skims over his chest and—

Maul’s breath hitches; his fingers twitch on the bedsheets, a tell that he is unable to stop. He tenses, jaw clenched, daring the captain to comment on it. He does not. He brushes against his collarbone again and Maul can feel his hearts drumming in his chest. Surely the captain can feel them. He blinks, eyes closing on their own as if sight becomes unbearable. Blood is pumping faster in his veins; his breathing accelerates. The captain’s hand goes higher, on his nape, and Maul swallows, throat suddenly dry, uncomprehending. He opens his eyes to glare at the captain, demanding explanation. He receives none. He opens his mouth, ready to snarl, when his fingers brush a horn, curling around the base and squeezing.

Maul tilts his head back, eyes closing on their own, and lets out a surprised groan; his entire body reacts to the touch like electric currents lighting up all of his nerves. The captain does it again; he gasps. He can feel his fingers circling another one, his thumb brushing but not quite touching. It feels like too much and not enough. 

Then, unprompted and unexpected, the fingers pinch the base _just_ right. Maul’s body reacts in a way he does not expect—he chases after the touch, pleasure hitting him everywhere at once. He does not want the captain to stop. He will do anything for him not to stop.

He latches onto the captain's wrist without thinking. He clenches his fist in a brutal grip on the verge of breaking it. His chest is heaving. He can hear himself panting, the fast rhythm of his heartbeats loud in his ears. The captain does not try to take his hand back. Maul wants to scream.

He should break his wrist. He should push him away, demand an explanation, find out what he is trying to gain doing—whatever _this_ is. The captain is still looking at his face in the same way he did since he started… _this._ Maul does not understand. There is no anger in his features. No resentment, no hate. There is no approbation, smugness, contentment or even satisfaction. Maul does not understand what his expression means. His fingertips twitch, grazing his skin once again, a silent suggestion, not an order. Maul’s hand shakes around his wrist. When the captain blinks, lips parting slightly, Maul’s grip falters indeliberately. He can feel the other’s arm moving, his own hand sliding around it. He does not try to stop him.

Maul opens his eyes. He sits up abruptly and looks around him. Night cycle. A dream. He slumps back on his stomach with a huff. How useless. He pulls the sheets up his chest and has to put a hand on his mouth quickly to stop a whine when the pillow brushes up against his horns. He breathes heavily, chest heaving, his senses in alert, and the constant motion makes him writhe. He throws the pillow away and regrets it immediately.

What is happening to him?

He touches his spine gingerly, where the implant now resides, testing. He can feel it but the touch brings no pain. If the implant functions well then what is happening?

He swallows hard, hand still over his mouth. His fingers trail from his lips to his temple, then slide to the back of his head. They still for an instant and his mind is on high alert. He swallows again and press on his—

He lets out a guttural sound through his throat and his back arches. He breathes heavily; he has no idea how long his eyes have been closed. Suddenly his skin feels too tight, his muscles shake and his hand makes a circling motion without him noticing. His body shivers and he groans. The sensation is—he—

A loud sound escapes his mouth when he pinches the base of one of his horns and he thrashes unconsciously, hips rocking on their own. He writhes, thighs clenching, and he can almost _feel_ the captain’s touch, his fingers around—

He flinches away from the thought and falls off the bed abruptly. He puts his hands on the floor, fingers splayed wide, and pants heavily. His throat constricts. It takes him a shamefully long time to retake control of his body and understands what happened.

Something is very, very wrong with him. Maul does not know what it is exactly but he knows there _is_ something.

He stares at the bed, contemplates falling back asleep but decides against it, hearts still hammering against his rib cage. He stands up, throws the sheets away angrily and stalks to the sparring room. He stands there, hands behind his back, and takes advantage of his steaming anger to meditate.

“Maul?” He opens his eyes when he feels Rose’s hand on his forearm. She is looking at him with a small smile. The lights are all on. Day cycle. Already? “Breakfast?”

He nods silently. He wonders when he stopped considering her touch a threat. Her smile widens. “Don’t forget to put on a shirt,” she says then turns around.

“Why?” he asks. She stops and looks back at him. Maul stiffens. Whatever she is going to say will be a lie. 

“No,” he says when she opens her mouth. “Do not lie.”

Rose’s eyes widen and she closes her mouth. She does not say anything for a long time. “Because it’s distracting,” she says eventually. He tilts his head. “And I really like the food when it’s not burned.”

“What,” he mutters. She shakes her head and raises her hands.

“Just—drop it,” she sighs. “Please.”

Maul wants to sneer. He wants to know. He wants to make her tell him. 

He says nothing and goes to put on the first shirt he can find. When he comes back, she is waiting for him. She takes his hand in her own, squeezes it once then releases it. He stays silent.

Cas is arguing with the captain when they arrive. Maul ignores them. He is certain she will make a jab at him for this but he cannot seem to bring himself to care. 

Cas stays with them when they eat and argues with the captain throughout the whole meal. Rose looks at Maul and sighs heavily. He shrugs. He does not mind. If Cas is busy with the captain then it means she leaves him alone. He is more than fine with this.

When he goes towards the ladder, she finally remembers he is here. “I am giving you two hours to do whatever it is you do when we are not at the holotable. After that we have a lot to do.” He huffs. “You have not listened to a word I said since you arrived but you _will_ listen to what I have to say because it is _important_ , Maul.”

He ignores her and goes to the cargo space. He goes through kata and focuses on his emotions. He opens his eyes the moment the captain’s feet touch the ground.

“You want to spar?” the man asks, his knuckles brushing Maul's arm. "We still have time."

Maul bares his teeth in a grin.

After an hour, the captain calls it. He is sprawled on the mats, panting. “Okay,” he says with a wide smile. “Give me a minute.”

Maul hums. “Very well, captain.” He circles him with lazy satisfaction. Cas arrives at this exact moment.

“Perfect,” she says. “Go shower then come to the holotable.” He bares his teeth but still goes.

As soon as he puts on clean clothes they are bombarded with holos of people he does not know. He stares at Cas and scowls. Rose is sitting in a corner, engrossed in her latest hobby.

“These people are happy,” Cas says. “Many organics embrace each other when they feel happiness. Sadness as well. They share emotions through touch. Joy, anger, fear, desire, sympathy, disgust—among others.” She points to a holo of three humans. The defector is one of them; Maul does not know the other ones. The female in the middle is grinning at something the defector said, while the male on the right has one arm around her shoulders, squeezing. His grip is not strong enough to hurt her. He puts his mouth on the crown of her head, closes his eyes then reaches for the defector, brushing his thumb against his cheek, staring at him. Maul does not understand his facial expression.

“Rey is grinning because she is happy,” Cas comments. “Smiling indicates positive feedback.”

“I know that,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Of course,” she replies. She does not sound like she believes him at all. “Is Poe happy?” She points at the male he does not know—the one who initiates touch. Maul scowls.

“What is th—”

“Are you unable to answer?”

Maul growls. “I do not have to answer you, droid.”

She nods. “I see. You would rather insult me by stating facts. How mature.” He scowls. “Rey is happy. Is Poe happy if he doesn’t smile?”

The captain arrives and frowns when he sees the holo. There are droplets of water falling on his neck. Maul’s throat constricts. He can feel tingles at the back of his head. He stiffens.

“Captain, is Poe happy?” she asks him. She points at the holo. “Rey is smiling because she is happy. Poe doesn’t smile. Shall we deduce that he is unhappy?”

The captain blinks at her. “Well, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Of course not.”

“Why?”

He frowns. “You can be happy without smiling. And you can be smiling without being happy.” He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “Dameron’s happy here. He’s hugging Rey and,” he points at Poe when the man places his mouth on her head, taking a step forward, “kissing her. Then he touches Finn because—” He falls abruptly silent, staring at them.

“Why does he touch Finn?” Cas asks. The captain swallows audibly, arms tightening around his chest. Maul tenses. “Captain?”

“Because he wants him to be happy,” he replies, voice rough and barely audible. He turns his face away. “What’s your point here?”

“Organics touch each other with different goals in mind,” she says. “It can be aggressive but not only. Poe Dameron is expressing his happiness through touch. Why?”

The captain shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “Because that’s what you do with the people you—er, I. I don’t know. Why are you asking that?”

“Maul,” she calls, turning towards him. “What is your opinion on this?”

He glares at her but stays silent. Cas does not budge. “Maul?” she asks again. He clenches his fists and scowls. He says nothing. He can see through his peripheral vision that the captain is staring at him. Anger rises within him. Cas turns away.

“Rose?”

“What?”

“Why does Poe touch Finn to share his happiness?”

“Oh,” she says then keeps dismantling her device. “Poe’s like me. We need physical contact.”

“Is it something organics usually do?” Cas asks. Rose nods.

“Yeah, of course. You know, I’m not very good with words so what I can’t say I try to tell it through hugs and small gestures.” She shrugs. “Can be a little pat on the shoulder or even a small thing like—” she extends her arm and brushes the back of her fingers against it, going up and down, up and down. The gesture is exactly the same the captain does when he tries to—

Maul flinches. He leaves abruptly, going for the ladder, not looking back. He’s stepping into the corridor leading to the medbay when he feels a hand closing around his wrist. He jerks away and his back hits the wall. The captain stands in front of him. He needs to push him if he wants to get away.

“Maul—”

“Let me go,” he growls. The captain raises his hands. Maul does not think; he takes his wrists and twists. In less than two seconds, Maul ends up pressed up against the wall and he snarls, attempting to push himself off and throwing his head back to hurt the man—to no avail. How did this happen? What did he fail to see? Once the captain lets go of him, he turns around and snarls.

“Maul?” Rose murmurs from the end of the corridor, slowly closing in on them. Cas is behind her. He bares his teeth in warning. They stop walking. When he takes a step towards them, the captain blocks him by putting his hand onto his chest and pushing him back against the wall.

“Go to the cockpit,” he says tightly, eyes on Maul. When neither Rose nor Cas move, he snaps, “ _Now._ ”

Rose startles but crosses the corridor quickly, eyes on the ground, and climbs up to the cockpit silently. Once she and Cas are away, Maul pushes his hand off him and stalks back to the cargo space. Filled with anger, he jumps from the kitchen straight to the sparring room, landing with one hand on the ground and he starts pacing, enraged. He clenches his fists when he sees the captain coming in. As soon as the man looks at him, he pounces and attacks him without warning. 

Maul kicks him without restraint and punches like he would in a real fight. The captain deflects all of his attacks, parries before he can even harm him and Maul is hit with the realisation that this man knows his technique, knows how he thinks, knows all of his tells and can probably find the flaws and take advantage of them—yet he does not even try to fight back. Maul jumps into a series of butterfly kicks and the captain blocks his bent wrist strike easily, as if he could already tell what Maul was aiming at before he could even think about it himself. He growls in frustration. When he hurls himself at him with a roundhouse kick, the captain blocks his leg, bends his knee then drags him above his shoulder only to throw him on the ground, effectively blocking him.

“I don’t want to fight you,” the captain says in his ear, his hand hooked around his horns to stop him from trying to strike him with his forehead. “Calm down,” he mutters, unmoving whereas Maul thrashes under him. The captain shifts so he can hook his legs around Maul’s and stops him from trying to flip them over. And for the first time, the captain growls at him, letting his full weight drop on him. “Maul,” he snarls in warning, igniting rage inside him. Maul growls back and thrashes more violently—with the sudden movement, his shirt rides up with the captain’s and he can feel his bare abdomen against his.

The captain pins both of his wrists to the mats, above his head, and applies more pressure to his head to stop him from thrashing. His thumb brush against the base of one of his horns. “Calm down,” he snarls. He leans closer; Maul tries to strike him with his forehead but only succeeds at planting his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling sharply at the contact. The captain's scent invades his senses.

It is instinctual—Maul cants his hips and grinds against him. He is hit with a wave of pleasure; he opens his mouth and groans. Above him, the man tenses and the hold he has on his wrists falters.

Maul’s hands slip away and clutch at the captain’s arms, trailing higher until they settle on his shoulders, pulling him down. The contact is electrifying; he shivers, panting, and relies on instinct. He moves his hips in a slow rhythm, reveling in the way his body reacts, how his thighs start shaking, how his hands clench and unclench on the captain’s sleeves, how his hearts rattle wildly against his ribs. He pulls him even more closer by winding one of his legs around his waist. The captain lets him. Maul feels himself harden and his first instinct is to still. Fear takes over and suddenly he does not know what to do.

He never acts on… _this_ —he has better self-control than that. If he waits or meditates, the problem always goes away on its own. Right now, though. Right now, he has the captain over him, his own body coiled tight around him, trapping him, and he is hit by vivid memories of his dream. 

Maul does not want to let go.

It does not take much; the captain shifts and suddenly Maul can feel his breath on his own skin, cool lips against his temple. The contact feels like an electric shock; he moans and pulls the captain against him abruptly. “Oh,” he lets out in a gasp and he rocks his hips again. The captain is a heavy weight on top of him; he should have the urge to push him away. He does not. Even more baffling—he wants him to be closer, even though it is realistically impossible. His hips start a slow, instinctual rhythm on their own, pressing against the captain and Maul is not sure he can stop himself even if he is forced to. There is a noise at the back of his throat; he wants to swallow it down but his pelvis slides against the captain’s hip bone and suddenly he keens, biting his lower lip harshly. He closes his eyes, starts moving more quickly, his body demanding to go faster, push harder, and Maul is panting, mind muddled by urges and wants. The pull increases, his hearts drumming erratically, and it is an ascension he cannot stop. He thinks he is talking, perhaps not with words, but he can feel his throat vibrating with the sounds he makes.

He feels himself going higher, higher, until he is unable to. Frustration gets to him. His body is still thrumming but it seems that there is something stopping him from achieving what he wants. He pulls the captain harder against him, snarling, but it is not enough. He hisses, tucks his nose in the crook of the captain's neck again then inhales sharply, growling in frustration and anger, trying to go back to the first sensation he was hit with, the overwhelming feeling of the captain's scent surrounding him, drowning him, taking control of all his senses at once.

The captain moves. It is subtle; he shifts on his other leg without disturbing the position they are in but now Maul can feel his hand sneaking between them and he shivers in anticipation. Anticipation for what—he knows not, not precisely, but there is no doubt in his mind that whatever it is he will like. He nuzzles the captain’s neck and breathes in sharply, humming in approval. He can feel the man's hand twitch at the sound. He moans victoriously.

But the captain's hand goes away and Maul growls, rocking his hips more harshly, demandingly. It comes back, takes a fistful of his tunic and pushes it up his chest, baring his skin. The act should alarm him but all Maul feels is _want_ and when fingers brush his skin he hiccups, air becoming more difficult to find. He has to choke back a whimper; it is clear the captain is hesitating, perhaps in fear or anger. Maul nibbles his neck, licks it afterwards, then bites a bit more harshly, trying to soothe him and quieten his emotions. The captain shivers and his hand trails lower, settling on his pelvis; Maul hears the gasping moan escaping his lips when he bites him again and he is flooded with satisfaction.

He wants more. More sounds, more reactions, more sensations. He wants everything. He moves more abruptly, demanding; he hisses when the captain’s hand grazes his _—Yes,_ this is it, he can feel it, if only his hand would move—

The captain presses his palm against him and fingers stroke him through the cloth. Maul’s eyes open in surprise, the touch sending a wave of pleasure throughout his whole body. His hips rock, grinding, and he groans, demanding more. The captain’s hand sneaks past his clothes and takes him fully, starting a fast rhythm, going up and down, up and down. Maul opens his mouth and lets out a loud moan, hips canting higher, his spine curving. He starts shaking, panting heavily, breathing quickening and his hearts threaten to give out. He blinks, uncomprehending, and he looks around him, lost, until his eyes settle on the captain.

The captain watches him with a conflicted look on his face. “Maul,” he whispers, soft and barely audible. Say it again, he wants to say, but the captain's hand twists and—

Maul’s mouth opens in a silent cry, fingers instinctively going to the captain’s head, burying themselves in his hair. The hand stroking him twists again and he whines staring at the man, at his searching eyes and his parted lips. His hand keeps moving quickly, accompanying him through the wave and Maul cannot avert his gaze even if he wants to. He lets out a choked groan, his thumb sliding to feel the harshness of his facial hair against his skin. He wants him to be closer; he wants him to rub his jaw against his neck—he wants to feel his lips on his nape, his skin against his own, his hands everywhere at once. He wants to feel everything with him, even what he cannot anymore, to know what he feels, what he senses, what he wants and what he sees in him.

The captain watches him, eyes roaming over his face and Maul is hit with the realisation that he _wants_ the captain. He wants him; he wants his hands, his lips, his words, his body, his laugh, his smile, his heart, his name—everything.

His eyes close without him meaning to and he is swallowed by an overwhelming sensation starting from the tip of his length; he feels a pull at the base then all of his muscles clench and start spasming. The sensation grows and grows, electric currents lighting up his nerves; Maul arches and he can feel it, the never-ending pulse, his legs going numb and his throat vibrating with words and sounds he cannot hear. He loses awareness of his surroundings, but it does not create fear in his mind because he is abruptly flooded with a wave of ecstasy. The captain's hand around him keeps moving, unrelenting, demanding more and more and Maul’s whole body shudders, unclenching all of his muscles at once. He goes weak, trembling, shaking breaths rattling his chest, quiet, tired whines escaping his throat, and he is let go. He has never felt anything like this before. The world around him goes silent.

He does not know how much time has passed but suddenly the captain shifts above him and Maul grunts, moving his head so he can bury his nose against his skin. He takes a deep breath, the scent hitting his senses, and he sighs in satisfaction. For a long moment, he is unable to do anything. He raises one arm with effort to sink his fingers in the captain’s hair, the softness of it tickling his skin. He nuzzles his neck and lets out a small moan. He feels himself slowly drifting off to sleep.

“Rex,” the captain reveals and Maul tenses immediately. “My name is Rex.”

Reality comes crashing like a blow to his stomach. At once he feels cold. He jerks away, staring at him silently, hearts rattling against his ribs, and his breathing quickens despite his effort to stay calm. He feels conflicted at the revelation. He wants to forget the name. He wants to keep it forever.

“I don’t care,” he snarls in anger, going back to more familiar grounds. He pushes the captain away violently and bares his teeth. His body begins to betray him; he finds breathing to become more difficult, feeling an invisible weight settling onto his chest, forcing him to take big gulps of air to fight against the pressure. His limbs start shaking even when he tries to make them submit to his will. Fear surrounds him, suffocates him, seeping inside his skin, through muscles, sinews and bones, taking control of his entire being. 

The captain tries to approach but Maul flinches back instinctively. He pulls his legs to his chest, trying to fight against his own body and shame overwhelms him. “Get out,” he whimpers through chattering teeth. He feels weak and pathetic, anger and hatred filling his blood. “ _Get out,_ ” he repeats, louder, with rage, and when the captain complies he closes his eyes and stops himself from yelling.

Maul decides to forget everything that happened.

  
  


He does not sleep during the night cycle. Despite trying multiple times, he cannot meditate. He walks to the holotable, stands right in front of it, tries again. To no avail.

He hears Rose the moment she steps off the ladder. Her light footsteps make padding sounds against the mats. She stops in the doorway and lingers. He ignores her for a long moment. When she does not seem to be leaving anytime soon, he opens his eyes and sees hers widen. “What do you want,” he mutters.

She has a toolbox in her hand and the caf machine under her arm. “Can I stay with you?” she asks. She will not be able to see much with the night cycle. He taps the holotable with a sigh, its soft light bathing the room in blue. Rose walks over to where he stands but stops before she is at arm’s length. He puts his back to the wall and lets himself slide down on the ground, closing his eyes.

“Can I sit with you?” she asks and he dips his chin but says nothing. After a moment, Rose sits down besides him. She tenses immediately when her knee brushes his thigh. He does not react. She gradually relaxes. 

“The caf machine is not broken,” he mutters, eyes still closed. He can hear her huff through her nose. She is probably smiling. He imagines she is; he can picture her perfectly in his mind.

“I know,” she whispers. “I just need to keep my hands busy.”

They stay silent for a while. Maul is not an idiot—he can feel that she is slowly getting closer even if she acts like she is not. He says nothing. When the side of her head settles on his shoulder, he opens his eyes to look at the caf machine. It is completely dismantled. 

“I used to do it with my parents’,” she tells him. “I had trouble sleeping through the night when I was little. My mother always complained about the caf machine so one night I decided to see if I could find what was wrong with it.” She picks up the pieces and starts assembling them. “I didn’t. I actually lost some of the components so we had to get another one,” she says with a small laugh. “They were mad at first but it slowly became one of the childhood stories they loved to tell people about. I was the little tauntaun who broke the caf machine.”

“What about Paige,” he mutters. He sees her looking around and hands her the spanner she needs. She takes it silently.

“When I was seven, she almost broke my mother’s speederbike. She wanted to show off in front of her friends and took it for a spin. She came this close to crash through a wall,” she says and she recreates the scene with a screwdriver and the battery. When she glances back at him and sees that he is looking at her hands, she smiles softly.

After a long moment spent in silence, she asks, “What about you? Any childhood memories?”

He stares at the holotable for a while. “I have none,” he says then swallows. She nods without judgement, then focuses on the components in her hands.

“Except one,” he confesses eventually, hands clenching on his thighs. She does not look back at him.

“Share it with me?”

He sighs, horns thudding against the wall. “It is not much,” he says. “Someone is bathing me—a Nightbrother, I think. He calls me a rancor.” She laughs. “What?”

“I knew you were already a nuisance,” she says with a snort. He huffs. “Do you know who he is?”

“No.” His eyes trail over to the sparring room. “I do not remember anything before I became my Master’s apprentice.”

She hooks her arm around his own but stays focused on the machine. “We’ll just have to make new memories, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: dubious consent, panic attack, smut
> 
> I didn't bump this up to an E-rating because of what's coming but I'm wondering if I should 🤔


	10. Spira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hewwo,,,I didn't update on Thursday because I got distracted 🦃

  
  
  


“They created a committee,” General Dameron explains, jaw tight. He sighs heavily. “We’re running out of time.” 

Rex nods stiffly. He stayed silent since the debrief started. Something happened—everybody can feel it. It puts them on edge to see him like that. General Finn has been entirely focused on Rex since the holograms appeared.

“How long?” Rose asks with a frown on her face. She’s worrying her lips. It’s still shocking sometimes, to see how many people let little gestures like that slip and don’t even seem concerned about it.

“They’ll be here in two standard weeks,” General Dameron informs them. She nods silently, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ll have to leave Spira at least three standard days before that.”

“We’ll be ready,” she says, voice unflinching. Their General gives her a narrow look.

“Rose,” he says with a frown. “They’re not here to condemn him.”

“I know, I know,” she says quickly. “I’m just worried.”

They keep exchanging for a while. Rex doesn’t talk. When the conversation almost comes to an end, General Finn asks everyone to clear the room to have a private discussion with him. Even General Dameron has to leave.

“I don’t see why they should,” Rex says before they reach the exit. The tone he uses—it makes them all stiffen. Some of them glance back; he’s as tense as he was the first time he saw the Zabrak. 

“Alright then. What happened?” their General asks. He’s frowning. It makes them uncomfortable. They never saw him like this before; he doesn’t look angry but there's something—he seems… _sharper._

Rex crosses his arms over his chest and takes a couple of steps away. The hologram doesn’t transmit him anymore—only Rose. She is frowning, her gaze fixed on the ground.

“What happened?” General Finn asks again. “Rose, what happened?”

She shakes her head silently. There’s a sound on her end, a small animalistic squeal, and her eyes glance to the side for a fleeting moment. Must be the baby. “Hang on, I—”

“Guys? Where are you? We can’t see you,” General Dameron says loudly. He glances at their General and mutters, “What the hell happened for them to be like this? Should I go there with BB?”

The other man raises his hand, eyes still staring where Rex and Rose should be. “Captain,” he calls. Everybody present stiffens. “Captain, report.”

“I don’t answer to you,” the man answers quietly. He still comes back in sight.

“You did something,” General Finn says and the way he says it—it makes them tense because there’s no doubt in their minds that he’s right; their General has good instincts. “I need to know how much you karked up and _why._ I have two weeks to prevent a disaster so start talking.” Rose comes back into view. Since Rex stays silent, their General points a finger to the ground. “ _Now._ ”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does,” he argues. “If Maul is involved, _it does._ What happened?”

Rex crosses his arms behind his back and averts his gaze, staring at the ground. 

“Rose, what happened?”

“I’m not sure but—” she glances back at the captain. “I hope I’m wrong.”

Before General Finn can speak, Rex mutters, “I don't think you are.”

Rose takes a step back. They all look at each other in confusion. Both Generals are deadly still.

“No,” she says, eyes wide. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Rex stays silent.

“Did you—” she stops herself with a shaky sigh. “Were you the one to start—”

“No. Yes.” He’s not looking at anybody else. From what they can gather, his gaze should be directed at the lizards. “I mean—I—I wasn’t—” He falls silent.

“That day,” she says with spite. “When you told us to go back to the cockpit.”

His jaw clenches. “I wasn’t—I didn’t plan for it. I. I don’t know; we were fighting then—” He takes a deep breath. “Then we weren’t.”

General Finn frowns. “What happened, Rex.”

The whole room falls silent.

“Captain.”

No answer.

“Alright,” their General says. “I’m only going to ask this once.” He takes a deep breath. “Did you have sex with him?” 

Rex flinches. No one dares to speak. Their General waits for him to answer.

Rex’s throat bobs. His shoulders slump; he stiffens again, spine straight. He avoids everybody’s gazes. “Yes,” he admits in a mutter.

“Did he bite you?” General Dameron asks immediately. They all look sharply at him. Rex blinks. “Was he biting you? Like—” He snaps at the air with his teeth and points at his jugular. “You know.”

“What?” General Finn exclaims, staring at him with wide eyes. “Poe, I don’t think this is—”

“No, no, hear me out. Did he bite you before you started—” He makes a vague gesture. They all glance at each other in confusion. “He did, right?”

“He’s a hybrid,” Rose says with a frown. She scoffs angrily. “He’s a non obligat—”

“Yeah but the—” He touches his hair, pinching his curls. “It worked, right? He’s still sensitive there so who says he doesn’t have it?”

“That's _unfair_ and—”

“Have _what_ exactly?” Rex asks, cutting her mid-sentence, eyes on General Dameron. It’s the first time he’s looking at someone directly.

Rose sighs. “Zabraks– _I_ _ridonian_ Zabraks–have a,” she opens her mouth and touches her teeth with the pad of her finger, “neurotoxin, I guess. It doesn’t paralyze a prey but it certainly makes them more complacent.” 

“It’s not very potent,” General Dameron says. “But it puts you in the right mood. It did for me. At least. I don’t know if—?”

“Not really—it made me sleepy,” Rose replies. “We didn’t kiss because of that.”

“Eh, yeah, I can understand wh—”

“Hang on,” General Finn says, cutting him off. “Are you saying Zabraks bite people to make them _relax_?”

“Yeah,” they reply in unison. 

“It’s kind of soothing, actually,” Rose mutters.

“Well, uh, I wouldn’t call it _soothing_ but—” General Dameron shrugs. “It has its perks.”

Their General raises his hand, silencing them. He is looking at Rex. “Did you want to have sex with him?” he asks.

Rex nods. “Yes,” he confirms.

“No, wait a second, Finn. If Maul bit—”  
  


Rose scoffs. “Are you seriously implying Mau _—_ ”

“I’m not implying anything; I’m sayi—”

“You can't be _serious_ rig—”

Their General whistles loudly; the room falls silent in shock.

“I want to speak with Captain Rex in private,” he says. General Dameron starts spluttering. “ _Please,_ Poe.”

The latter stares at their General for a long time. “Alright,” he eventually concedes. They clear the room in a matter of seconds.

  
  
  


When their General comes out, he refuses to tell anybody what happened.

  
  


The following days are tense. The base is on edge; they have a lot of preparation to do if they want to be ready before the committee arrives. The Generals argue. They try to hide it, especially when they see them nearby, but it’s difficult not to notice. General Dameron is constantly making tea and General Finn’s eyes keep glancing at Rey’s hut whenever he’s nearby.

They never met Rey but her presence on the base is so tangible it’s hard to remember sometimes. There is a place in the jungle that everybody knows; you have to walk through the bumpy path and turn right when you see the rock shaped like a tooka. After the twirly tree there is a stone circle; you shouldn’t go inside the circle but you can touch the rocks. The pilots say it brings luck to scratch the back of your knuckles against some of them—it helps the Force flow through you better.

Ack told them the pilots all do this because Rey used to meditate there and the rocks would all float around her, weightless like leaves blown by the wind. When they go there they can _almost_ feel her presence, like she’s still meditating right there with them.

At night, the guards all wave at her hut before their shift; it’s high and there’s a good sight of the base. If you wave at the hut, it helps you stay alert at night because the Force knows you are watching over the others. Tex waves at it every time she goes off planet because she wants the Force to know she does it to protect them.

Superstitions are useless. They all know it; the Resistance fighters had all sorts of beliefs and they carried trinkets and had odd behaviors because they did not understand that their faith was misplaced. The First Order prohibited religious beliefs, blind faith and keeping fallacies alive. You didn’t need to have faith in the Order because its superiority was undeniable. And that’s what they believed—but the Resistance fighters are still here, with all their beliefs and trinkets and odd behaviors, while the First Order is gone.

So now they go to the stone circle to touch the rocks and they wave at Rey’s hut when the others have nightmares they never talk about. Maybe beliefs and superstitions aren't such a bad thing.

One evening, they are all having dinner together and the Generals try to make conversation but it doesn’t flow as easily as it usually does. Their answers to each other are stilted and they always try to redirect questions to someone other than either of them. Ack is getting more and more tense as the seconds pass. Tex has been trying to appease them but nothing seems to work. 

“You said we have to talk when we are upset,” Letsap says loudly when the silence stretches for too long. Both men startle.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” General Finn says quickly, leaning closer to her. “Are you upset?”

“Yes,” she mutters. “You’re not talking, sir.”

He frowns. “I am?” he says, voice rising in the end. He stares at his hands. It’s because he’s trying not to glance at General Dameron.

“You’re not, sir. It’s been four days.”

He opens his mouth to protest but no sound comes out.

General Dameron sighs. “We just don’t see eye to eye on something,” he tells them. “It’s… It doesn’t happen very often, that’s all.”

“Did you talk?” Letsap asks. Both men wince.

“It’s not that easy,” General Dameron replies.

“How do you know this if you don’t talk? Maybe if you talked with us it wo—”

“Letsap,” Tex mutters in warning, silencing her immediately. None of them dare to speak after that. The dinner is spent in silence.

“You’re right, actually,” General Finn says eventually. “Maybe if we talked it would be easier.”

“We already did and we don’t agree,” General Dameron argues, waving his hand dismissively, eyes glancing away from the table.

“That’s because _you_ decided you were right no matter wha—”

“He’s a _Sith,_ Finn,” the General shouts, finger tapping on the table insistently. “He was trained by _Palpatine._ He’s a notorious master manipulator. How is that difficult to understand?” He huffs, crossing his arms. “You’re putting the blame on Rex because you can’t se—”

“What?” He splutters, eyes blinking rapidly. “I am not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No! I’m just saying it’s not Maul’s fault!”

“Oh yeah? Then whose fault is it, uh? Whose fault, Finn?”

“No one!” he exclaims. He shakes his head. “Everyone else’s.”

The room falls silent. Letsap curls up on her seat; it’s a faint movement, made slow so as to not attract attention, but of course both men see it. General Dameron’s hand settles on her shoulder and, when she doesn’t react, he softly pulls her against him and kisses the top of her head. General Finn slides his hand across the table, palm up, and waits for her to take it.

“It’s not your fault, buddy,” General Dameron says when the other man squeezes her hand. “Sometimes we just don’t agree; sometimes we can be upset and there's nothing we can do about it. It’s not great but it happens.”

“I do not understand,” Holo mutters. Besides her, her twin’s shoulders slump and he nods silently. Tex and Ack hums in agreement. The one with no name doesn’t say anything but then she never does.

“Why is it everyone else’s fault, sir?” Tex asks, redirecting the attention on her. Their General hums, eyes focused on Letsap’s hand.

“Rex is like us,” he says. “There’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t seem strange for us but does for other people.” They all nod. “Sometimes we mess things up because we don’t know why we shouldn’t do this.”

“I know that,” General Dameron replies with a frown. He gestures at the room at large with his chin. “We all know that. What the First Order did to you–what the Republic did to Rex–it’s not your fault. And there are, sometimes, there are things that seem normal for you guys but they shouldn’t and I try to help you through it because it’s important and you matter.”

“A lot of people don’t agree with you,” their General reminds him. “They’re not ready to see past the white helmets.”

“They should.”

“They should,” their General agrees. “You do.”

“Yeah,” he replies, voice trailing. 

“Then why can’t you do the same with Maul?”

General Dameron frowns. “That’s—it’s not the same.”

“You said it yourself multiple times,” he argues. “He doesn’t like the Sith anymore than we do. What happened in the past wasn’t him. Not after he got—” he makes a slashing motion at his waist. “You can’t blame him for this but not blame us for what we did. If you think he’s nothing more than what Palpatine did to him, then how can we be more than just conditioned stormtroopers?”

General Dameron stays silent. For an entire minute, he opens and closes his mouth multiple times but no sound comes out. 

“Damn it,” he mutters eventually. He sighs heavily. “I guess I—I don’t know. I need to think about this.” He shifts in his seat.

“Don’t move,” General Finn says, voice hushed. He points with his chin to Letsap, who is snoring softly. “She’s got Rey’s pout when she sleeps.”

General Dameron smiles. “Yeah, you’re right,” he whispers. “She’s just as stubborn too.”

“Rey’s not stubborn. She has faith. She believes in everything she does.”

“Well, she always does what she thinks is best,” General Dameron mutters. He falls silent after that.

“I miss her too,” General Finn says.

“Did she upset you, sir?” Holo asks with surprise in her voice. They didn’t think Rey was capable of upsetting people.

“Oh, she did. Multiple times,” General Dameron says with a scoff that turns into a quiet laugh. He stills when Letsap moves. After a moment, he relaxes. “You know, one time Rey dropped a tree on BB. A _tree._ Can you imagine?”

They can’t, not really, but it’s only a matter of time before they do—the General is very good at telling stories; when he talks it's almost like they were right there with them.

The more he talks the more their General’s smile grows. When Tex takes his hand in hers, he squeezes, bumping her shoulder softly, and they know it will get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been what? two decades since Queen Amidala said "I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this invasion in a committee!" but I swear the way she says 'in a committee' was the funniest thing to me as a kid and, here I am in 2020, still quietly saying under my breath 'in a committee!' mimicking her voice every time I read or hear that word


	11. Ajan Kloss

  
  
  
  


“We leave in two days,” Rose tells him. She has been wringing her hands since she came out of the cockpit. “I won’t let them imprison you.”

“The decision is not yours to make,” he reminds her, eyes closed. He abandoned the idea of meditating as soon as she arrived but he is not certain he can look at her right now. When she curls herself around him, he does not say anything.

She has been… more prone to look for him whenever she is awake. Maul is not certain what changed but she asks him _permission_ to act or behave a certain way with him. She did not before. It grates on his nerves but he stops himself from snapping at her—which angers him even more every time he notices.

For their remaining time on the ship, Cas does not leave him either. She tells him everything he needs to know about the Senate and more, runs simulations about what he can expect when facing the committee and interrogates him until he snaps.

“You must take this seriously,” she says once again. Maul scoffs.

“We both already know what their decision will be.”

“Don’t be so defeatist. It doesn’t suit you.”

“One thing is certain,” he says, rolling his eyes, “I will not miss you.”

“Who says I’m leaving you on your own?” she retorts. “Maybe I’ll stick with you.”

He huffs but does not reply anything. 

He has not seen the captain since… since. Rose tries to talk with him about it but, when she understands she will get no reply, she drops the subject. 

He is plagued by dreams that make no sense—impressions, false memories—all featuring the captain. He wakes up one time in the middle of the night cycle, panting and shaking, muscles tense, hearts hammering against his ribs, the sensation of the captain’s hands on his skin impossible to escape, and he has to put a hand over his mouth because he is certain he uttered his name out loud. 

Two cycles pass by quickly. The moment they are pulled in a tractor beam, Maul tenses. He is on his own in the sparring room. He almost expects the door leading to the ladder to shut itself off. It does not. He stands up and puts his hands behind his back. Rose climbs down the ladder and joins him. She puts her hand around his forearm and squeezes. 

They feel the artificial gravity being temporarily shut down only to be brought back up; his body reacts immediately to the change, sensing the ship calibrating to the new pull. Maul is almost certain they landed inside another ship. Cas comes into the cargo space, followed by the captain, who stares right in front of him. He crosses the sparring room and stands beside the holotable, staring at the wall. Cas goes to stand behind him. 

“Come on,” Rose says, her hand pulling Maul towards them. He walks silently but stands still when they hear the telltale sound of circular saws cutting through. He scowls. They are cutting a rectangular hole right through the hull. The captain does not look away even when they start ripping it open. Maul takes in a sharp breath—he can see the outside world.

“Hello,” the defector says. Behind him, soldiers aim their blasters at them, unflinching. Trained fighters; young for Humans but undoubtedly used to weaponry. None of them wears stormtrooper armour but Maul is certain they are all products of the First Order. “Welcome back.”

When the defector takes a step forward, Rose runs towards him. They embrace each other and laugh. She looks back at Maul and nods. The captain glances back at him quickly, then stares at the ground, jaw clenching.

“Stand down,” the defector says and the soldiers do immediately; their eyes never leave Maul. He takes an abrupt step forward, testing, and they all stiffen at once. His eyes narrow.

The captain purposely steps in front of him, blocking his view. Maul tilts his head, catching the soldiers’ gazes.

“Stand down,” the captain repeats. One of them looks at him sharply–the ringleader he presumes–and frowns. Whatever she sees in his face convinces her; she barks a command, what he assumes is a tactical term they are all familiar with since they all visibly relax.

“Welcome to the _Nystullum_ ,” a male voice says. When Maul takes a step closer to the captain silently; the soldiers tense for a second but kill the instinct just as quickly. He recognises the man. “I’m Poe Dameron. Please come in.”

Maul glances at the defector and huffs. He wonders if Rey is here as well. 

They step through the hole and he is hit with a myriad of sounds, motions, scents; he almost falters. The captain stands in front of him, back tense and unflinching.

Maul does not introduce himself. He is certain everyone already knows who he is.

“What kind of ship is this?” the captain asks. Rose walks up to them and her hand settles around Maul’s elbow.

“A Star Cruiser,” she says. The captain hums noncommittally, head tilting to the ceiling. Maul cannot stop himself from looking up. Two soldiers are there. Their blaster rifles are aimed at him. He smiles.

“Never thought I’ll see one from the inside,” the captain mutters, rolling up his sleeves absentmindedly. Poe Dameron chuckles.

“Well, this one’s been through a lot,” he says then gestures behind him. “Come on. Let me give you a tour.”

“Rose,” the defector calls. She looks at him but her hand stays firmly on Maul’s elbow. “Can you show us the baby?”

She looks back at Maul, raising her chin and frowns. She gives his elbow a quick squeeze.

It occurs to him that she is expecting some kind of response from _him._ He blinks, then nods slowly, not exactly sure what he is supposed to say. She returns his nod with a smile and says, “Yeah, sure.” She steps back into the ship, the defector behind her. Some of the soldiers follow them. They all keep Maul in their visual field. He feigns ignoring them.

“Maul?” Poe Dameron calls. “You coming, buddy?”

“Yes, he is,” Cas says, speaking for the first time since they stepped outside the ship. She gestures at him to walk in front of her. He scowls but starts walking. The captain falls into step beside him but says nothing.

The ship is… very modern. Too modern to be anything but from the future. Any doubts he had left about the veracity of living seventy years forward are quietly extinguished with each step he takes. 

Maul spends the tour in silence. The captain remains besides him but never tries to make him talk. They take a lift and steps inside what looks like heavily-modified officers’ quarters. He scoffs. This must be his new cell.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” the captain snaps. Poe Dameron pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I know,” he sighs. “But the committee wants him there until they can see him.” When the captain starts to protest, he says, “My hands are tied.”

“You planned this,” the captain growls. “You lied to me.”

“No,” the defector says, coming in. “I did.” He glances at Maul then says, “Because I knew how you’d react.” 

The captain clenches his fists, his face twisted into a snarl.

“You can’t stay here,” the defector says softly. He wets his lips, eyes glancing to the side, then takes a step forward. “You have to leave.”

“So you can lock him up again?” the captain snarls. “You’re treating him like a pri—”

“I need you to stay away from him,” the defector states, cutting him off. “Until I know for sure he wants you here.”

Maul blinks. The captain’s demeanour changes immediately; his face becomes impassive and he stands straighter. 

“I am right here,” Maul sneers. Both the defector and Poe Dameron startle. “Whether the captain is present or not will not change the fact that you are keeping me here _willingly._ ” He bares his teeth placing himself between them and the captain, tilting his head. It is subtle but they both tense. “Do not pretend you care about my wellbeing.”

“I do,” the defector argues, jaw clenching. Maul chuckles.

“If you did,” he mutters, taking another step forward. “You would let me go.” He takes another step.

“Alright that’s enough,” Poe Dameron says, hand going for his holster. Maul spares him a glance. “Step back. Captain, I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“I—”

“Go,” Maul says. “I will not kill them.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” the captain mutters, walking closer. Maul meets his gaze. He should scoff. Perhaps even bare his teeth and sneer. He can disarm Poe Dameron and take care of the defector quickly. 

The captain nods a silent question. 

Maul wonders, for an instant—if he goes after them, would the captain stop him or not? Which side would he pick?

“I promise this is temporary,” Poe Dameron says. Maul keeps staring at the captain. “They should be here in half a cycle. After that, you’ll be able to move freely.”

Maul scoffs. “We all know this is not true.”

“Hey that’s—”

“Go,” Maul whispers, speaking over Poe Dameron. When he realises that the captain does not budge, he forces himself to quench any visible reaction. “Leave,” he says.

“I won’t let th—”

“Leave,” he repeats, lifting his hand up and brushing his knuckles down the captain’s forearm. He sees his eyes widening, his sharp intake of breath, and Maul gives him a narrow look. He will not repeat himself.

The lift opens and Cas comes in. “We need to get ready for when they come,” she says, walking to the holopod in the middle of the room, ignoring the tension in the air. “Do you know who is in the committee? It would be hel—”

“Cas,” Maul cuts her off. She falls silent. “Go with the captain.”

“We have no time for—”

“Leave,” he growls. “Both of you. _Now._ ”

Cas scoffs in indignation but still says, “I give you two hours then we will get to work whether you want it or not.” She gestures at the captain to follow her. He does after Maul nods subtly. The defector goes inside the lift with them.

Poe Dameron looks at him and frowns. “You weren’t what I was expecting,” he comments. Maul closes his eyes and puts his hands behind his back, planting his feet on the ground in a meditative stance. The man sighs. “Listen… We’re not happy with the situation here either. I know it doesn’t look like it but we’re really not.”

Maul stays silent. Poe Dameron tries to make conversation. He ignores him. After a while, the man understands that he will not gain anything so he leaves.

He waits for perhaps half an hour after the lift closed before he decides to move. He walks around the room and stops in front of the viewport. He tries not to react at seeing hyperspace. It is, in a sense, the first time he does. How ironic. Hyperspace meant being able to do _something—_ it meant that, for a short instant, Maul could have a simulacrum of freedom, enjoying his Master’s lenience. 

As it is, he is not going to have a taste of freedom anytime soon.

He wants to put his forehead against the viewport but refrains from it. There is little chance he is not monitored; he will not give them the satisfaction of being able to witness how he truly feels.

Two hours later, Cas comes in and proceeds to give him a thorough report on what she could find about the committee. Maul stops listening halfway through it. She does not even complain. 

When she is almost finished, she mutters, “As soon as I step into the lift, you will have thirteen minutes to get to the hangar bay and get your hands on a ship. The tractor beam will be deactivated for sixty seconds.” 

Maul does not react. 

“To hell with the Senate,” she whispers vehemently. 

She keeps talking for another half hour. He acts as if nothing happened. When she goes to step outside, she blocks the door. He steps into the lift; she punches through the ceiling, tores it apart and hurls him up through the hole. 

“Thirteen minutes!” she yells.

Maul crawls inside the vents and jumps down when he sees an entry to a supply closet. He listens around him. No alarms. His eyes narrow. He steps outside. No one in the corridors. A mouse droid beeps at him. 

< ONE LEFT, TWO RIGHT, THREE LEFT, ONE RIGHT, FIVE RIGHT, TWO LEFT, > it says. 

Maul follows the instructions without question. He does not cross paths with anyone. 

When he arrives at the hangar bay, it is deserted. He scowls and takes a look around. One of the gunships has its ramp down. He clenches his jaw. It feels too easy. 

Maul walks in, ready to fight—someone is already inside. 

He pushes them against the wall, baring his teeth; the captain stares at him with wide eyes but does not try to fight back. For a moment, Maul has no idea what to do. He stares at the man and does not know how to react. 

“I do not want to fight you,” he tells him. The captain huffs softly and smiles.

“Me neither,” he whispers.

Maul’s hearts rattle widly against his chest. Suddenly he feels lightheaded. “This is your doing,” he says, surprise evident in his voice. 

“Messed up the small window during shift change,” he explains. “I won’t let them imprison you.” 

“Why,” he snarls. 

The captain looks at him, eyes roaming over him. A quick smile appears on his face but Maul can tell he is not happy. He lifts one hand, curling it around Maul’s arm and squeezes.

“Just go,” the captain whispers, releasing him. His throat bobs up and down. “The ship is prepped and you should have enough fuel to jump at least four parsecs aw—”

Maul covers the captain's mouth with his hand, silencing him, and he closes the distance between them, eyes shutting on their own; he nuzzles the captain’s neck, inhaling deeply. He hears his responding gasp, expects him to push him away. The captain does not.

“Come with me,” Maul says before he can stop himself. He can feel the captain swallow against his lips. He nips his skin without thinking.

The captain raises his hand, latching onto his horns, gasping. “No,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I can’t go with you.” He softly pushes his head away before Maul can bite him again. “You need to see the galaxy for yourself. You have to decide who you want to be; you can’t do that if I’m with you.”

Maul’s throat constricts. He does not want to move. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

“You’re free, Maul,” the captain whispers, lips brushing his temple. He can feel his smile against his skin. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

The captain steps away and walks to the ramp. “Go,” he tells him, then turns away and leaves. Maul stares at him, rooted to the spot.

Once he is outside, Rex stops. “I’m sorry,” he says.

The ship closes itself.

Maul blinks. For a moment, he stays still, staring at the closed door. He ducks his chin then gets angry; this is not the time for whatever this is. He goes to the cockpit without waiting; he turns on the engines and familiarises himself quickly with the commands. The shield comes out; this is the opening he was waiting for. He takes off; he is thrown out of hyperspace as soon as he flies out.

The ship rolls on itself until Maul can regain equilibrium; he quickly calculates the coordinates to end up two sectors away and activates the hyperdrive. Before him, the stars blurr and Maul inhales sharply. 

He is on his own. He lets go of the controls and stares at them, feeling numb.

It could be a trap. Perhaps the captain deceived him. Perhaps it was a test—to see if he would take the bait and try to escape. It has to be. He scoffs, getting angry at himself. How foolish of him to th—

Around him, the galaxy goes silent. Then, unexpected, he is overwhelmed by a multitude of sensations.

Maul gasps. He grips the pilot seat, clawing at it with all of his strength. He shivers, a wave starting from the small of his back, rolling in sparks to the crown of his head—the taste of fresh meat, flaring heat on his skin, his mind imbued with crimson tones—the low, rumbling laugh of a brother, and his chest rises then falls, inhale, exhale, and around him the air shifts. 

It feels like the quietude of a droid’s mind. He opens his eyes, stares at his palm, wiggles his fingers and chokes down on a whine. It feels _foreign—_ like regaining sight but realizing the world is _different_ yet entirely similar. Gone are the apprehension, the small, inoffensive rebellion, the sentiments of coercion and oppression; there are only quiet pulsations, muted waves of indifference and everlasting tranquility. Maul blinks, tastes blue on the tip of his tongue, hears the wet sensation of snow against his skin, and touches the sour flavour of burnt spices.

The ship pulls out of hyperspace. He has been staring at his palm for six hours. He blinks, eyes sliding to the viewport blearily. Before him lies the vastness of space—dark, unsympathetic emptiness. No stars, no planets, no asteroids—nothing but void. A blank slate and nothing obstructing his view. He lets out a stuttering laugh, the need to bare his teeth in a grin impossible to quell. His body exhales shakily, tension seeping out of him.

Maul reaches out—and the Force reaches back.

  
  
  
  



	12. Zygerria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (fyi, there are no spoilers for mando s2 here)

“What is it, Holo?” Rex says, eyes boring into her. She hands him the datapad.

“We’ve been receiving… unusual reports,” she replies. Even though she dropped the _sir_ months ago, it is still difficult not to say it automatically sometimes—especially when she is not fully certain. “We’ve been compiling some of them. It’s probably nothing but…” She shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “It could be him.”

Rex’s eyes make quick zigzags while he reads through what they put up together. He glances back up and says, “I think you’re onto something. Get Finn and Dameron into the war room.” He walks away but turns back abruptly. “Don’t warn Rose. Not until we’re sure.”

They nod quickly and split up to find the Generals.

As soon as they approach, Finn’s head rises. “Are you sure?” he asks before they can speak.

“No,” Ives admits. “But there’s a big chance it’s him.” Letsap nods in confirmation.

Finn’s eyes soften. “Alright. If you made the connection someone else will soon enough,” he says, turning off his datapads. “War room?”

When they come in, the holotable is already on; a young Devaronian is already talking with Rex.

“They left a huge vacuum,” she says with a sigh. “We’re trying to keep up but they’re _very_ active. I don’t have enough hands to take care of everyone.”

“I’m sure we’ll find volunteers here,” Poe says. “You said it happened a week ago, then?”

“A Hosnian week ago, yeah,” she says with a sure nod. “I’m not sure what the standard is these days.”

“We switched back to Chandrila for the time being,” he replies with a grimace. “How are you faring?”

“We’ve been having a constant stream of refugees coming in since.” She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Believe me, I’m not going to cry over Zygerrian deaths but we’re overcrowded as it is. If they keep this rhythm, we won’t be able to take anyone in anymore.”

“Did you catch a name? Or at least what they look like,” Poe asks.

“People don’t want to say,” she mutters, eyes shifting to the side. “There are rumors it’s a Zabrak but, otherwise, I’ve got nothing.”

“Not even from a child?” Rex asks, speaking for the first time since the rest of them arrived. The Devaronian looks at him and stays silent for a while.

“Well, it’s probably nothing but—” She shrugs one shoulder. “One of the Twi’leks we picked up last night said a man named Savage told them to come here.”

It’s very subtle but they’ve been observing Rex for the last thirteen months, so they always catch when he lets a reaction slip out—and when he hears that name, he does. Letsap and Spanner glance at each other. Finally. They found him.

“Thank you,” Rex says. The Devaronian nods; her lips twitch. “So the Zyges lost all of their outposts?”

“I think so, yes,” she tells them. “I’m not sure how long it’s going to stay like this; there’s bound to be somebody else to take over.”

Slavery in the Outer Rim is still common, if a bit hidden. The Zygerrians grew more powerful these last years, especially since the Hutts lost the majority of their power. The problem is that Zyges are far from being the only slavers in the Outer Rim, which means they need to find out which bastards will try to get their claws into the trade first.

“I know who his next targets are,” Rex mutters. Then, louder, he says, “Thank you, Astra.” 

She offers them a small smile. “When you see them, thank them for me, alright?” She cuts off the transmission. 

“Who’s next?” Poe asks while Finn joins them at the holotable. Rex makes a gesture at all of them to come closer as well.

“The Guavian,” he tells them, fingers softly drumming on the table.

“How do you know?” Finn asks with a frown. Rex’s lips thin into a tight grimace. “Rex.”

“Because I’m the one who told him about the slave trade,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure Kanjiklub will be next.”

“What I’m going to say is very controversial but—” Poe winces. “Should we stop him? Really?” he adds, voice going high like Finn does sometimes. He lets out a high-strung sound and shrugs. “You have to admit, his methods are effective.”

“I’m not going to tell the Senate if that’s what you're asking,” Rex mutters darkly.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Finn asks.

“Yeah,” Rex says. “Savage was his brother’s name.”

“Sithspit,” Poe exclaims. “I’m starting to think my opinions on Sith Lords may need some renovating.”

Rex sighs. “I also told him about the Pykes and the Kijimi runners.”

“No,” Poe says with a laugh. “No, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't.” When he receives only silence, he takes a step back. “Zori is with the runners!”

“I–” Rex puts a hand on his face and sighs heavily again. “I didn't know he'd do that. It just came up one day, talking about the Guavian and Han Solo—”

“Rose told you about the Rathtars?” Finn asks. He receives a wince that turns into a nod.

“I didn't realize he was actively listening,” Rex admits. 

“We need to warn them,” Poe says, pacing. Finn puts a hand on his arm to calm him down.

“We’re going to,” he says. “But Zori won't take us seriously.”

“I hate that you’re right.” Poe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know, when you decided to let him go I didn't think _this_ would be the kind of trouble he'd make.”

“You have no proof it was me,” Rex mutters absentmindedly. Poe snorts.

“Oh, please. The Senate believes he pulled that stunt on his own but _I_ don’t. We all know he couldn’t.” 

“Show me where this means I was involved.”

Poe huffs. He drops the subject, as usual. “I thought Sith wanted total dominion over the galaxy. What the kriff is he doing?”

“He wants freedom,” Finn says. “He only attacked slavers.” He frowns. “Look, I know I promised we would be the first to apprehend him _if_ the Republic tracked him down but—”

“Astra needs help,” Rex finishes with a small nod. He’s staring at the table. “Yeah, I. I know.”

Finn gives him an apologetic smile then looks through something on the HoloNet. News articles, it looks like. He parses through them quickly. It takes a moment but Holo gets what he's aiming at; she signs it to Ives and they start looking for clues themselves on their datapads.

“Tex and Ack are in the same sector, I think,” Letsap says. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Poe asks, eyes on her. Letsap clears her throat.

“You need to make a call for humanitarian aid.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Broadcast it to the Republic channels.”

“Or you take over the slave trade,” Holo mutters in thought. Her eyes stay on her datapad. Ives elbows her softly. When she notices everyone is staring at her, she blinks. “If you take control, the Guavian won't go against you. The Republic’s too big for them.”

“The Republic stands against slavery,” Poe reminds her slowly. Holo shakes her head.

“Yes, I know that, sir,” she says quickly. “But if you take over the trade, dismantling it will be easier. If the Republic offers them citizenships, temporary lodgings, _something_ to help them transition, then the trade dies. You can't run a business like that without supply.” She shrugs. “The Zygerrians are at their weakest right now. They have no allies. Sooner rather than later, they'll become as insignificant as the Hutts. The Republic can take over smoothly.”

The room falls silent. She looks at the Generals expectantly.

“Hell, Holo,” Poe says after a long moment spent in dumbstruck silence. He looks at Finn and Rex. “Is that–? Can we really do this?”

Rex stays silent. He stares at one of the articles, frowning. “You would need to act quickly but it's doable,” he mutters. “You can’t go without the Senate’s approval. If they disown you, you're done for.”

“Great. Politicians,” Poe mutters. Finn shakes his head.

“No, politicians are a good thing,” he says. “I think I know a couple of senators we could rally to our cause actually.” 

“Wait,” Poe says, staring at Rex. “What do you mean ‘you’?” He gets no reply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I just need a small ship,” Rex says. He’s not looking at any of them. He takes a deep breath. “You know I’ll find him.”

Finn takes his arm softly, getting his attention. “We need you. _I_ need you,” he says. “If you stand by me, we can get the Mandalorians.”

Rex looks at him disbelievingly. “They’re blaming us for letting Maul escape.”

Poe chuckles. “Not you,” he mutters. Rex frowns.

“You underestimate how important you and your brothers are for them,” Finn replies slowly. “The crests some of them wear on their helmets—what do you think they’re for?”

Rex blinks.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says after a beat. Finn shrugs. “They’re imitating Phase I?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew.”

Rex lets out a startled laugh that turns into a loud one; he puts his hand over his mouth, closing his eyes, and turns around. Ives grins and elbows Holo softly. Thirteen months since Rex decided to stay here, help them transition to civ life and it’s only the third time they hear him laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says after half a minute but doesn’t offer any explanation. 

“What’s so funny?” Letsap asks. Rex shakes his head.

“In a way, they’re honoring Lama Su,” he explains. “He was the Prime Minister when we were created. It’s why Phase I crests were so large—they were made to look like his.”

Letsap nods even though she doesn’t understand what’s so funny about that. Finn gives Rex a confused smile while Poe taps his shoulder.

“Tell me you’re game, buddy,” he says, squeezing. 

Rex looks at each of them and asks silently. Holo and Ives nod. Letsap nods too but she averts her gaze, telling him she’s not entirely behind the idea. “Spanner?” he asks.

Spanner has been staring at the ground since they arrived. “If you go find Maul, you’re going to leave,” she mutters. “If you help us you’re going to leave too. Right?”

Rex looks at her and his face softens. “Yes,” he tells her truthfully. “Even if I do, I won’t leave forever. We’ll be able to comm, just like Tex and Ack.”

“I didn’t want them to go,” she says with a frown. “Everyone leaves and I’m still a shiny.”

“Being a shiny isn’t bad, Span,” Rex says, walking up to her. “You know we’ll come back. Remember?”

“We don’t leave brothers behind,” she mutters. “I remember.”

“Besides, there’re plenty of people here. You still have Holo, Ives and Letsap. There’s Finn, fierfek, there’s even Dameron. He’s not too bad for a natborn, you know.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Poe mutters. “You complimented me and you can’t take it back.”

“I’m a natborn?” Finn says. Ives and Holo shake their heads.

“You’re a brother,” Letsap explains. “Just like us. Rex and Jannah are brothers; Rose and Poe are natborns.”

“I’m a _good_ natborn,” Poe corrects. “I make a good ohcarrob letsap, right?” Letsap nods eagerly, earning a beaming grin.

Spanner takes Rex’s wrist in her hand and nods silently. He smiles at her and puts her under his arm. “Alright, Dameron,” he says. “I’m game.”

  
  
  
  
  


The senators for Orto Plutonia, Ryloth and Tatooine are the firsts to rally to their cause; the Naboo senator and the Gungan representative follow right after, along with the Senator for Mon Cala. The first senator to oppose their request is the one from Cato Neimoidia; he’s backed by the representative from Kessel and the senator for Corellia. There are talks about sending Finn with Kaydel Ko Connix to the Senate on Chandrila but Poe says they don’t have time. 

Tonight is going to be their all for nothing; they will talk with the Mandalore at 2130. If she backs them up, the Senate will give them the all clear.

They’re all nervous. They’re all extremely nervous. Rose has been spending the whole day with Finn, reminding him to relax and take a deep breath. “You don’t understand,” Finn says. “If I kark up, this whole operation is doomed.”

Rose huffs and squeezes his arm. “You won’t kark up,” she tells him, certain.

When they’re in the war room, they all wear their armors. Tex and Ack stand besides them; even with the light blue hue of the hologram, their new paint colors are easily seen. When Ack tells Ives and Holo she likes their new paints, they grin fiercely. Spanner doesn’t have paint yet but she’s the one to stand closest to Rex and Finn.

When the hologram of the Mandalore appears, the room falls silent. She’s on her throne, her hands placed on the armrests, legs crossed on the seat. Her helmet turns instantly to Rex.

“I knew one of your lieutenants, captain,” the Mandalore says, voice strong and steady. “ARC trooper Jesse. He was a very good friend.” Her helmet tilts slightly. “He always spoke highly of you. Maybe one day we'll be able to exchange stories. Perhaps we’ll be able to talk about Ahsoka Tano.”

Rex’s eyes widen. “You knew the commander?” he asks, surprise obvious in his voice. The Mandalore nods.

“Mandalore,” Finn calls, redirecting the attention towards him. Spanner straightens immediately when her helmet slides to her, then to the General. Behind her, Ives rattles his gauntlet softly against her backplate. “We requested an audience with you bec—”

“I know why,” she states, her voice like lightning. Her gloved hands clench into fists. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice _who_ ’s been killing all the slavers?”

“Are you saying you won’t help us?” Finn asks, eyebrows raised. The Mandalore stays silent. She shifts on her seat, fingers tapping on her armrest and hums.

No one moves. As much as she acts nonchalantly, there is obvious durasteel behind her words. If they make an enemy out of her, the entire base might get shut down. No one dares say it out loud, probably even within the confines of the Senate, but Mandalorians are getting stronger everyday—and they have become a force to be reckoned with, even more so now that the Republic is rebuilding and hunting down First Order remnants.

It will become an issue, one day or another. They may not be interested in conquest anymore but it doesn’t mean they never will be.

“I like you,” the Mandalore says with a decisive nod. “What do you want, general?”

“Your support on Chandrila,” he tells her plainly. “If Mandalore stands with us, we won’t hit a wall when we call for aid.”

“I see.” Her helmet turns from him to Rex. “Where are your Jaig eyes, captain?”

“In my room,” he replies. The Mandalore leans in on her seat, a closed fist in front of her stomach. Even Tex and Ack straighten their postures at this. Rex doesn’t budge.

“Tion gar ne'shekemi haar Mand'alor?” she asks. _Negative statement–You Follow Leader_ , Holo signs for the others. Ives shifts slightly. This isn’t going to end well.

“Nu’ni mando,” Rex states. _Negative statement–Me Mandalorian,_ Holo signs. “Eyay’ade Mando draar.” _Brothers Never Mandalorian._

She hums. Her helmet goes back to Finn. “What else do you want?” she asks. They all relax slightly.

“Volunteers, ships, food supplies,” he lists. “We want anything you can give us.”

“I see.” She looks to the side, probably at someone who isn’t on the hologram’s range. A Mandalorian comes into view, whispers something behind her. They have a signet on their pauldron—not one they recognize. No distinctive color. There’s no way to say what they’re saying is good or not. The Mandalore nods once and they stand back, disappearing from the hologram’s range. “We want Maul,” she says.

“No,” Rex replies immediately. Her helmet stays on Finn.

“I have questions for him,” she tells them. “I want answers.”

“Just that?” Finn asks. She doesn’t nod. She doesn’t shake her head either. “What kind of questions are we talking about here?”

“We have a common acquaintance. I need to find them,” she explains. “Maul may know how to find them.”

“This person,” Rex says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did he meet them before or after the Clone War?”

Her helmet turns to him. “After,” she replies. “Why?”

“Then he won’t know who they are,” he tells her. “He’s a clone; the only memories he has are until 32 BBY.”

“Is that what he told you?” she asks, voice tight. Finn and Rex nod. “We still want to question him.”

“No deal,” Rex says. Her helmet tilts to the side.

“What can you bring to the table, then?”

“Not much,” Finn admits. “This is a humanitarian mission. We never stated otherwise.”

“You’re talking about taking control of the slave trade on behalf of the Republic,” she says. “Do I need to list all the ways your _humanitarian_ mission could go wrong?”

“Then work with us,” Finn retorts, taking a step forward. “You would be our most prominent backer. You’ll have a say in every decision. You’ll be able to veto when you feel it necessary.”

“What tells you I won’t take over the slave trade? Mandalore would only come out stronger.”

“Your past says it all, Unifier,” Rex says. “You fought to have your people free. You fought for the freedom of others.” He frowns. “The Mandalorians united under your rule because they knew they would stand stronger together; they knew no one would take their freedom ever again. Dar nu draar.”

“Dar nu draar,” she repeats. Her helmet turns around. She may not be looking at them but at people they can’t see. “So be it,” she says. “Mandalore stands with you.”

Outside the war room, people cheer quietly. The Mandalore sits up straighter then says, “I will send commandos and supplies. Captain Rex will be our representative.”

The base falls silent. 

“Mand’alor—I can’t accept that,” he says. “I—” The Mandalore raises her hand, silencing him.

“You know our language. You know our culture, our ways and our tenets. You know our creed,” she states. “I could send someone but we all know they will never be privy to your plans.” She raises her helmet high. “You will represent Mandalore. You will represent our Way. Ibic haar manda.”

“Ibic haar manda,” they hear multiple voices repeat on her end. 

The transmission is cut after this. The room stays silent for a long while.

“I don’t speak Mandalorian,” Poe says. “Someone explains to me what the kriff happened.”

“Rex outranks us now,” Finn says absently. He turns back towards them, showing them his hand signing _Brothers._ “What does this mean?” 

Tex raises her hands above her helmet then places them above her visor, mimicking the Jaig eyes. “Brothers,” she says. “Brothers watch each other’s backs.” She signs _You Me Brothers._ Finn smiles and signs _You Me Brothers_ back.

“Wait,” Poe blurts out. “What do you mean Rex outrank us?”

“Are you going to be the one to say no to the Mandalore?” Finn says with a frantic shake of his head. “Because _I’_ m not. So if Rex says we do something I’m not going against him!”

“Yes, you are,” Rex says tiredly. He pinches the bridge of his nose, something he got from Poe. “We do this together.”

  
  
  


They send Finn and Rex to join Kaydel Ko Connix on Chandrila. She’s the one to do the talking in front of the Senate. Her speech is broadcasted throughout the galaxy; they watch her outside with Poe and the others. Rex and Finn stand straight behind her. Rex is wearing his full armor, helmet held proudly under his arm.

“Mandalore is in favour,” the senator for Kalevala says as soon as she is finished. From there, voices rise quickly in the Senate.

The motion is put to a vote. They obtain the majority. Everybody gets up at the base, even if it’s in the middle of the night for them, and they start working; they have a lot to do. 

When Finn and Rex come back, the base is ready. The Mandalorians send supplies, ships and warriors—who all nod to Rex when he walks by. Ives is the one who dares asking Poe what is going on.

“Most of the leaders are dead but there’s still a whole lot of stuff to do to take over the trade,” he tells him. “We’re gonna have to fight to take control.”

“Are we going to war?” Ives asks. His eyes are focused on the ground in front of him. Poe puts his arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah, buddy,” he mutters. “You and your sisters will stay here. We need warriors to defend the base.”

“We’re not _children,_ ” Ives spits. “We can—”

“You’re still shinies _,_ ” Poe says calmly. “This isn’t warfare. It’s going to be ugly. We’ll fight against people who have no morals. If they find an opening, they’ll hit the base. We need you _here._ You’re as crucial as any natborn fighter.” He sighs. “Besides, you and your twin need to be in the war room. Without Holo, it’s going to be a mess of people searching through stuff and finding nothing and you’re one of our finest strategists. Without Rex here, we’re going to need you a whole lot, buddy.”

When Poe kisses the crown of his head, Ives puts his head on his shoulder and stops protesting.

They’ll send the first wave in the morning. The day before is strange. They call Tex and Ack, needing reassurance, and talk to Jannah as well. Rex comes find them in the evening and tells them they’re going to eat dinner outside. When they ask if they should bring Finn and Poe, Rex shakes his head.

“They’re taking the night off,” he says, whatever that means. They set up dinner next to Rey’s hut. Ajara takes almost half of the night sky—from where they sit, they can’t see much of it. 

“What were the Jedi like?” Letsap asks when they’re almost finished eating.

“More,” Rex mutters. “They felt like—” He frowns, eyes on his bowl. “Like they were more than life.”

“Do you miss them?” Spanner mutters, eyes on Rey’s hut. Rex clears his throat and looks at her with a small smile.

“Yeah,” he admits. “All the time.”

They hear shouts. A Mandalorian runs below them. “Hey!” Rex calls. “Me’vaar ti gar?”

“Haatyc aru’e,” the woman shouts. _Enemy spotted,_ Holo signs. “Ka’gaht abesh.” _South East._

They hear the sound of blasters firing. Rex curses. “You stay behind me,” he tells them, taking his Deeces in hand. They already have theirs.

They proceed to the South East watchtower and they see _it_ from afar. It’s a weapon—like the Supreme Leader’s, except this one has two blades and they’re yellow. The sound of them, the hungry growl that devours anything and everything, it brings fear in their minds.

“Ke’mot!” Rex yells, raising his fist in _Halt._ The blaster fire ceases instantly. The blades stop spinning but they remain—there’s no crackle and the light is stable. That’s not what they remember from a weapon like this one. 

Rex signs _Halt_ again to them. They stop even though he keeps approaching the intruder. Holo puts her hand on Spanner’s shoulder when she tries to take a step forward anyway.

The intruder is wearing a cloak with the hood on; they can’t see their face. Rex puts his blasters back in his holsters. They all tense immediately.

“Holo—”

“Do not move,” she says to her twin who falls silent. Letsap’s hands clench tightly.

Once the intruder sees Rex, the blades retract. They walk towards him at a slow pace. Rex stops moving. When they stand in front of him, he raises his hands and pushes their hood off.

Stark black markings adorning red skin, as breathtaking as when they saw him for the first time on Exegol. They didn’t know his eyes could glow.

Letsap walks towards them and they follow her, disobeying direct orders. They only stop when they’re five meters away from them—not too far, close enough to cover for Rex if things go sideways. Maul’s eyes are still staring at him.

“Captain,” he says, voice rough as if unused. He bares his teeth in what they recognize as the grin they used to make before they saw the natborns did it differently—with less teeth so it doesn’t seem aggressive. 

And Rex smiles, a _wide_ smile, with his eyes crinkling, and they have trouble believing what they see. He’s never smiled like that before.

Hands twitching at his sides, Rex whispers, “Hello, Maul.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written months ago and it’s the case with most of the scenes that include Mandos; I’m going to be honest with you, I watch season 2 every week but I don’t plan on changing things if what’s on screen clashes with something here because I (a) am lazy and (b) have already built a whole history and background for Mandalorians here because there’s lit rally nothing said about them in the sequels except “there were Mando ships during the Battle of Exegol” Sooo hopefully Mando isn’t going to meet someone or do something that will make everything here go “ehh, okay but consider: no” 
> 
> Many thanks to the soft wars server for helping me out a couple of months ago with “Tion gar ne'shekemi haar Mand'alor” because mando’a syntax is peepeepoopoo i don’t wike it (i think about it 24/7)


	13. Kadavo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: we hit the E-rating now, peeps.

  
  
  
  


Around them, the Mandalorians are on edge—he can almost taste their hunger, blood singing with the promise of a fight and, underneath, the unmistakable rumble of fear.

“You could’ve warned us,” the captain whispers with a twist of his mouth. Maul cannot take his eyes off him. His hair is a bit longer. He looks… darker—perhaps his skin changes depending on the planet’s atmosphere. He is a bit slimmer but it could simply be his clothes. If the captain lets him run his fingers through his hair, Maul suspects it is going to be just as soft as he remembers.

He hears people running, surrounding them. He huffs. Poe Dameron walks towards them. Maul's eyes narrow.

The captain turns around and places himself in front of him. The action throws Maul off; he is hit with the memory of him doing the same thing a year before. It takes all of his restraint not to close his eyes and lean in.

“Stand down,” the captain snaps. Surprisingly, the Mandalorians all do—without even a second of hesitation. The soldiers do not. “I said _stand down._ ”

When Maul sees the newcomers raising their blasters, he ignites his staff and walks around the captain. “Graze him and I will make quick work of you,” he warns in a mutter.

“Fierfek, you’re not helping,” the captain whispers harshly. Then, louder, he says, “Dameron, _please._ ”

“I don’t know, Rex,” the man says. “He doesn’t seem very friendly.”

Maul hears the captain sigh heavily behind him. He wears too many layers to feel his breath on his skin. Unfortunate. “Maul,” he mutters. “You have to stand down. They won’t hurt me.”

“No, they will not,” he confirms tightly. He clenches his jaw and deactivates his staff. He glares at the soldiers, daring them to make a move. He can kill them all swiftly if need be. He bares his teeth in warning. He can see some of them falter. Good.

“Maul,” the captain mutters again. “They won’t hurt me.” He steps closer. “Stand down. Please.”

He scowls but, after a couple of seconds, he lowers his staff down and stands straighter. “Thank you,” the captain murmurs behind him. He hums in reply.

Maul can feel the defector before he can even see him; the man is strong in the Force, albeit untrained—that much is clear seeing how much he is projecting. The realisation twists something inside him; he has the faint urge to recoil or stiffen but he kills the sensation before it can bloom.

A wave of emotions hits him—Maul is overwhelmed by surprise, annoyance, anxiety, exhaustion and, most bafflingly, _happiness_. It is coming from the defector. He almost falters but he sees Poe Dameron being pushed to the side and suddenly Rose is running towards him, a wide smile on her face. She throws herself at him before he can even understand what is happening.

Maul takes a step back, bending his knee, and catches her in mid flight; she puts her arms around his neck and her shoulder covers his mouth at once. He hears her laugh and feels her delight.

“You came back!” she exclaims and for a moment he is at loss. “I knew you would!”

Maul does not know what to say. He does not know what to do either. Rose squeezes him tighter. He indulges himself for a second and closes his eyes. When she releases him, she puts herself in front of him and says to the crowd, “You tell the Senate and I will make you eat bantha fodder for breakfast!”

He cannot stop himself; he laughs. Rose swats him without looking back; the soldiers startle at the sound. Poe Dameron blinks at her for a couple of times then snorts. He lowers his weapon. “Stand down,” he says. The soldiers do.

“You’re lucky,” the defector says, placing himself besides Poe Dameron. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.” He leans on one foot and looks behind Maul. “He’s your problem until then. I need everybody to be calm and rested for tomorrow.”

“Finn?” One of the soldiers says. The defector stares at Maul for a moment.

“No,” he says. “We’re good. He won’t cause trouble.” He clasps his hands together. The Mandalorians stay silent. They only leave when the captain says something in their language. The soldiers linger.

“It’s okay,” the captain tells them. “Go with Dameron and Finn.”

“I thought they were taking the night off,” one of them says. Poe Dameron coughs.

“Yeah well, change of plans,” he rasps. He swings an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Letsap.”

Rose’s hand is still clutching at his cloak. Maul does not comment on it. “Okay,” she says once everyone else left. She turns around and smiles at him. “You look good! A bit tired but good.” She glances back at Rex. “You’re not here to kill him, are you?”

Maul stares at her for a moment. “Why would I do that,” he asks. She shrugs. She does not give him any answer.

“I can’t cover for you if you do,” she tells him.

“Hey,” the captain protests behind him. He splutters. “Nobody’s going to try to ki—”

“You can come with me or stay with him,” Rose says over him. Maul blinks. She glares at the man behind him. “ _You_ better talk with him if he chooses you.”

“ _He_ is right here,” Maul mutters wryly. Her eyes slide back to him and she grins.

“Yes, you are,” she says with a bubbling laugh. She pats his cloak, as if checking whether he is tangible or not. How curious. Perhaps she truly thinks he can disappear.

“Rose,” he says then falls silent. He has so much to tell her—so many things he _wants_ to share with her. The words do not leave his mouth. After a moment, she releases him and shakes her head, sighing.

“I’m not going to see you until tomorrow morning, right?” she whispers. He dips his chin silently. She smiles again, squeezing his wrist for a second, takes a step back and turns around, leaving. He watches her retreating figure stoically.

Only the captain remains now. Maul turns back and his eyes roam over his face. His heartbeats accelerate. He feels at loss once again.

“You need to sleep,” he blurts out. The captain’s eyes widen.

“Er. I, er. Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Are you. Are you tired?”

Maul stays silent, indecisive. The captain’s throat bobs, redirecting his attention. He cannot take his eyes away from his neck now. He wants to sink his teeth in it.

“I will meditate while you sleep,” he says, moving abruptly. He walks towards the base. The captain does not move. “I do not know where your quarters are,” he reminds him dryly.

“My—wait, my quarters?” he blurts out. Maul rolls his eyes.

“Would you prefer I stand in the hangar bay? In the corridors, perhaps?” He huffs. “You heard the defector. I am your problem until tomorrow morning.”

The captain makes some kind of strangled sound. Maul tilts his head in confusion.

“His name is Finn,” the captain retorts. “And you know it.”

Maul hums noncommittally. 

They walk inside the base in silence. Besides him, the captain is flaring like a beacon of nervous energy. It is… disconcerting to be able to feel his emotions so simply; Maul genuinely thought the captain would shield himself from him as soon as he saw him.

As of now, he still has not. Perhaps he does not know how.

The workers they meet all avoid his gaze; he can feel their fear—sharp and blinding like lightning. This is the fear of those who know intimately how dangerous a Force sensitive can be. They must have fought on Exegol.

The captain opens a door, leading him inside a dark room and Maul has to stop at the doorway—the captain’s scent invades his nostrils; his hearts rattle against his ribs and he inhales sharply. He feels his throat tighten, has to stop his hands from twitching on their own, and his knees almost wobble for a second. His abdominal muscles clench and he releases a shaky breath through his nose, eyes fluttering shut.

“Maul?” the captain calls and he lets a low growl of satisfaction rumble through his chest. There is a spike of _something_ within the captain but it is quickly extinguished with everything else.

“Ah,” he says. “You know how to shield yourself.”

  
  


“Yeah,” the captain rasps. He clears his throat. “I just. I lost the habit.”

“You project,” Maul says, opening his eyes to give him a narrow look, stepping inside the room once the captain invites him in with a sweep of his hand. He stands in front of him. “You act as an anchor for the defector.” Something passes over the captain’s face but he nods sharply. “You have not told him.” 

“No.”

“Why?”

The captain averts his gaze and steps away from him. He goes to sit on the bed and stares at him. It occurs to Maul that the man did not turn on the light; he must not see anything except for his eyes.

“Why did you come here, Maul?” he asks. He receives no reply. “Maul.”

He takes a step forward instinctively but stops. After a long moment spent in silence, the captain sighs and puts his head between his hands. 

Perhaps Maul misjudged. He should not have come here. He blinks, hands clenching into fists, breathing accelerating. He needs to leave. He turns around and goes to open the door. 

“Wait,” the captain says and Maul freezes. Then, he whispers, “Don’t leave.”

Anger flares inside him.

“I do not understand,” he snarls, gritting his teeth. His rage overwhelms him; he turns around to sneer and—

The feeling is extinguished as soon as it appears but Maul _senses_ it nonetheless. There is a flare of fear, so potent it is almost tangible—its acrid taste hitting his nostrils and burning his tongue. Maul goes rigid, eyes widening. This does not come from him.

He does not remember what he wanted to say.

“You don’t have to tell me,” the captain says in a whisper. “Just.” He blinks, throat bobbing. “Don’t leave.” He sighs. “I need to sleep.”

Maul nods silently, words escaping him, a tight knot in his throat. He takes off his cloak hastily, throws it carelessly on the floor, takes off his gloves, his tabard and his shirt, lets them drop on the ground. He sits down, puts his staff in front of him and closes his eyes. 

Anger eludes him. He focuses on fear. Always a constant in his life—silent, demanding, feral, like a predator feeding upon him, clawing at his flesh, tearing his mind apart. Maul learned to tame fear, control it, use it lest it devours him. Focusing on fear has never been an issue.

Maul cannot stay focused. 

Every time the captain moves, every time he hears the sheets rustling, he loses concentration. He can feel the captain falling asleep then a spike of alarm surges through him and he startles wide awake; the pattern repeats itself over and over again. After an hour of huffs and constant movements, Maul opens his eyes and growls.

“You must relax if you want to sleep,” he sneers. The captain throws the sheets off him in anger.

“I can’t,” he snarls back. He sits up and his hands cover his face. He takes a deep breath in. “I can’t,” he repeats, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Why?” Maul clenches his jaw. If he were the problem then the captain would not have asked him to stay. Or perhaps he miscalculated. “Shall I lea—”

“No,” the captain snaps, cutting him off with a rushed command, and Maul falls silent at once, surprised by the surge of emotions he felt accompanying the word. The captain sighs and his head drops down. “Please, don’t,” he whispers. Then, louder, he says, “Lights on. Fifteen percent.”

“Captain,” he mutters. “You must sl—”

“I don’t want to,” he rasps. He sighs shakily. His back straightens and he stares at the wall before him. “I need to—” He swallows hard. He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Maul stays silent.

“What I did that day,” the captain says, still staring at the wall. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Maul stands up; as soon as he does, the captain’s head turns right to him. He walks silently towards the bed, leans in and puts his hands on the mattress. The captain watches him but does not react. Maul climbs on the bed, pushes the captain’s knees apart to place himself between his legs, staring at his face, looking for any minute expression he can find. His face betrays nothing. 

“I could kill you without making a sound,” he tells the captain. He places the tips of two fingers on his jugular. He can feel his heart beating quickly. He leans closer, lips tracing his jawline, and asks, “Would you let me?”

For a moment, Maul wonders if he went too far, if he should leave—fear flares inside him and he stays still, devoured by doubt. 

It is so minute—he would have not noticed, had his other hand been anywhere but on the captain's knee—his legs spread wider, perhaps only a centimetre, but the message feels like a loud call to him. Flooded by emotions he cannot parse through, Maul crawls up until he is fully looming over the captain and pushes him down softly. He sees his throat bobbing, lips parting, eyes widening, and Maul is hit with a sense of possessiveness. 

For the first time since he landed here, he knows; the captain is here, with him, and wants him to be here. Maul lets his lips graze the captain’s neck, his tongue darting to taste skin—months and months spent in chaos and disarray suddenly make sense. He left because he did not know, he could not know what it feels like to be free, what it feels like to be an individual rather than a weapon, what it feels like to want. What Maul wants now–his desires, his needs, what he covets, craves and hungers for–is what he wants as himself. 

And more than anything, Maul wants the captain, despite the fact that he still does not understand why his body recoils every time he tries to think about… About _that day._

There is _something_ that he feels is missing—a part of his memories that leaves no gap, nothing to fill but that he can still _sense_ is missing. He was not aware of it before but, now that he is, it enrages him to realise that he does not know _why_ it is here or, rather, what is _not_ here. 

There are times—times when his body is… _reacting_ while it should not, times when he is invaded by emotions which serve no purpose, strong feelings that cannot further his connection to the Force. He has come to recognise them as variations of useless passion—desire, sensuality, yearning, lust—and he loathes them vehemently. _Lust_ —lust is always determined by how much he can resist it.

“Would you let me kill you, captain?” he asks in a whisper, eyes fluttering shut, because, when it comes to the captain, Maul finds he does not want to resist. 

The captain takes his hand and curls it around his own throat. “Do you want to kill me?” he asks rather than answers. 

Maul pulls his hand away instinctively and nips at his jaw.

“Tell me to stay,” he commands, humming deeply in satisfaction at the gasp he is graced with. He clutches at the bedsheets tightly, hunger pooling lower than his stomach, shivering with want. “Tell me to stay,” he says again against the captain’s neck, lips forming the words on his skin. The urge to devour him becomes overwhelming.

“Maul,” he lets out breathlessly, rigid under him, his single heartbeat hammering against Maul’s chest at a rapid pace. He snarls possessively, feels his senses closing in and focusing solely on the captain. Staying still becomes akin to torture.

“Say it,” he demands, words harsh, unflinching, and he lets his lips graze his jawline again but does not bite.

“Stay,” the captain gasps, hands latching onto his shoulders, pulling him down.

Maul rolls his hips, shivers at the contact, and bares his teeth in a grin. It has not changed; victory, where the captain is concerned, always tastes sweeter. He breathes in deeply, lets the captain’s scent invade his mind and senses. Thinking becomes more difficult; his thoughts begin but never end, going from one idea to another only for him to drop them both or forget where they started. 

“You must relax, captain,” he says, nipping his jaw. Oh how many times he has dreamt about doing this, having the captain under him, trapped between him and the bed, his to discover and map—uncharted territories at his fingertips, ready to be conquered. The sensations–to know this is reality, to breathe in his scent, taste his skin, feel the beginning of scruff against his tongue… Encompassing. Maul aches with want and restraint, fear mingled with a deep sense of satisfaction at the back of his mind. He bites his neck and lets pleasure invade him.

The captain moans loudly. Maul chuckles, moving his hips in a slow rhythm. He lets one hand trail on the sheets to settle on the captain’s waist, hooks his thumb around the hem of his shirt, and lets it ride up with the motion of his hips. When he feels the captain responding, moving slowly with him, he inhales sharply. Maul has never been patient by nature.

He pushes the offending shirt up and his hand brushes skin—he groans in delight when he feels a trail of hairs at his fingertips. He wastes no more time; he tugs at the captain’s pants and pushes them down on his thighs. He takes a curious look down his torso, sees a couple of hairs on his chest and the trail down his abdomen. He hums in interest when he sees his length, a rush of saliva hitting his tongue. Maul needs to take him in his mouth when they have more time.

He licks his own palm, tongue swirling around his fingers. “Fierfek,” the captain curses and Maul glances at him in question. He is staring at his mouth, pupils blown wide, a guttural groan coming out of his throat. Maul pulls his fingers out, licks his lips and leans down. He bites the captain’s neck when his hand closes around the head of his length.

“Take off your shirt,” he growls, squeezing his fist, and the captain opens his mouth in a silent cry, breath eluding him. He nods hastily and fumbles but the shirt comes off and Maul rewards him with a nip. He twists his wrist, squeezing tightly at random, and he growls with desire when he feels him harden between his thumb and forefinger.

The captain lets out a small moan, swallows hard; his eyes are tightly shut and he has a frown on his face. Maul takes him fully into his hand, clenching, and he starts pumping hard and fast, reveling in the way the response is immediate. Hot blooded and hard inside his fist, the captain’s length becomes wet with its own slick and it takes a great amount of restraint not to take his hand off it to taste his fingers. Tonight, Maul wants to watch him come apart knowing it is his own doing; if he indulges himself too much he will deviate and, if he does, the captain will not sleep anytime soon.

Another twist of his wrist and the man’s hips lift off the bed; his groan is delicious, as if uprooted from his very core. Maul grins, eyes focused on his fist. He sees the crown disappearing inside it—such a nice colour, so wet with slick his mouth is watering at the sight and so hard and demanding because of him. The rush of power he gets from this is incredibly fulfilling.

The captain’s thighs are trembling, small tremors shaking his muscles. How delightful. Maul lets go of his length without warning, lets it slap down on him and starts to fondle him, a finger trailing on his perineum. The captain’s eyes open wide and he lets out a startled moan. 

“Look at me,” Maul demands. And the captain does. Eyes staring at him, boring into him, brown with flecks of darker shades—they seem to see so much more than they should, stripping Maul of everything with a simple glance, letting his soul bared for them to observe.

The captain blinks, once, slowly, then drops his mental shields.

Maul is hit with a wave of emotions–surprise, joy, dread, sadness, panic, fear, anxiety, happiness, hunger, fear, relief, contentment, delight, fear, desire, lust, want, want, want, _want, I want you, I want you—_

“Rex,” he blurts out, eyes clenched shut, panting. The captain’s fingers hook on his horns, his palm insistent at the back of his head, and he is kriffing himself in Maul’s fist shamelessly. When did Maul take his length back into his fist? Is he missing some time? 

The captain’s hand is on top of his and he pumps himself greedily, groaning, and uses the fingers hooked on Maul’s horns to pull him up at eye level. He stares at him, face contorted in pleasure, mouth open and letting out sinful groans that shake Maul to the core. 

Powerless against him, Maul stares back at the captain and all he can feel is his own desire intermingled with fear.

Rex gasps after a harsh twist of their wrists, head dropping back down on the pillow. He lets out a low moan, closing his eyes, and Maul feels it—the captain’s length spills his release, twitching inside his fist, spurts coating his torso, hips moving in a stuttering rhythm. His pants turn into breathy moans, chest racking with them, and his head thrashes to the sides, little jerks and shivers making him hiccup. Then, all of his muscles relax; his hands fall down on the bed and his entire body goes limp. Were it not for his panting, Maul would have panicked.

He releases him, takes the discarded shirt and cleans him up with it, tossing it to the side, hopefully not on his own clothes. Maul is not sure where exactly he threw it but he does not want to avert his gaze from the captain’s face. He sees him opening his eyes, unfocused, until they settle on his own.

Rex smiles and says, “Hi.”

Maul is hit with a surge of fear. He slowly runs his fingers through the captain’s hair. Still soft. He then puts his lips on the crown of his head, closes his eyes for a second, then leaning back, he brushes his cheek with his thumb. The captain stares at him silently and Maul can feel his happiness as if it were his own.

“Sleep,” he tells him, sensing the captain’s stubbornness, how he wants to stay awake despite his body demanding rest. Maul tries to swallow the knot in his throat and says, “I will be here.”

It is instantaneous—any lingering tension in his body seeps out and Rex closes his eyes then promptly falls asleep. Maul tugs his pants back up, pushes him on his side and puts him between the wall and himself. He snakes his arm around his waist and pulls the captain's back against his chest.

Passion must bring him strength. Passion must be the first step toward freedom. Passion must not tie him to _someone else._

Maul closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, Rex’s scent overwhelming his senses. He falls asleep with a sense of dread and fear at the back of his mind.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be smut from now on? Yes. Not in every chapter but,,,yes. I’ll probably give heads up like “smut!” in the A/N 👌🏽


	14. Kadavo II

  
  
  
  


Someone is hammering at the door.

“Rex!” a voice shouts, muffled. Maul growls. “Are you awake?”

Well, if he is not, Maul is going to shake him awake.

The captain groans something resembling a _yes_ then tenses.

“Kriff, he’s going to come in; quick, just—” he pulls the sheets up abruptly and covers Maul with them, putting his pillow against his head. The door opens before Maul can understand _why._

“It’s almos—what is that?”

The captain is sitting on top of him; he shakes the pillow when Maul tries to dislodge him. “What is what?” he asks, voice tight, clutching harshly at Maul’s thigh through the sheets.

Whoever is at the door lets out a confused hum. “Is—” they clear their throat. “Is that Maul?”

“Er,” the captain replies smartly, letting the vowel trail. “What. What were you going to say?”

For a long moment, Maul hears nothing but feels the captain shift on top of him. The silence stretches. Rex keeps moving; from what he can gather, there is a silent conversation he is not privy to happening. He clenches his jaw and refrains from throwing the captain off him out of spite.

“I’m not a shiny anymore!” they shout. “I know what a paintjob is!”

He can feel the spike of horror coming from Rex and he feels confused in return. How could a paint job bring an emotion this strong? “That’s. That’s,” he wheezes. “Let’s not. Just.”

“Is this Maul? Are you Maul?”

The captain clutches his thigh harshly in warning. Maul snorts but says nothing. They gasp.

“Don't tell anyone, Ives,” Rex says in a rush. “Not even Holo.” Silence. “But _only_ Holo. Just. Can you please go? Please.” 

“Okay,” is the muttered response.

The door closes. The captain sighs. Maul growls. Rex startles and gets up. “Right. Er. Sorry.”

Maul pushes the sheets away violently and glares. The captain’s eyes widen and he puts a hand on his face.

“Fierfek,” he whispers. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why?” he growls low in his chest.

Rex sighs. For a long moment, he says nothing. 

“Captain.” Maul tilts his head. “What is it.”

“I’m the first person you saw when you woke up,” he blurts out, sitting back on the bed, putting distance between them. He is staring at the door. “I’m the first person you connected with.”

Maul blinks. “I do not understand,” he says. 

“What we di—what _I_ did that day,” the captain says, “I shouldn’t have.”

Maul huffs. “You already said so last night.”

The captain sighs, eyes sliding to the space between them. “You acted on instinct—I see that now,” he says. “My metrics are flawed; it took me time to understand that. We’re not the same. We’re different from them,” he mutters, his head pointing at the door, “but that doesn’t make us the same.”

Maul stays silent. He suppresses any reaction that could be seen. The captain’s eyes glide to him and his mouth twitches—it is neither a smile nor a grimace. Maul does not understand his facial expression.

“I knew you were testing boundaries; I saw it the first time you touched my arm,” Rex confesses. “But I thought you knew what you were doing. I thought you did it because I couldn’t hide my interest.” His gaze darts to the side. “I thought you were weaponizing it against me.” He huffs. “It was working. I didn’t try to stop you.”

He falls silent. Maul stares at him for a long moment. “Why,” he demands.

Rex ducks his chin. He is still avoiding his gaze. “It gave you agency. And I liked it even if I kne— _thought_ it wasn’t genuine.” He grimaces. “I was wrong. I realized it too late.”

Maul does not say anything. The captain’s comlink beeps. The man swears. He displays the message and scowls.

“I’m late,” he says. “I need to get to the hangar bay in less than ten minutes.”

As soon as he gets up, Maul latches onto his elbow and pulls him closer. His throat closes up. He cannot find words. He lets his hand slide down his arm, his wrist, then his fingers curl around the captain’s palm.

“I need to go to the ‘fresher,” Rex whispers, crossing their fingers together. “If you’re here when I come out, I’ll know you come with me.” He pulls his hand towards his face and places his lips on Maul’s knuckles. “I want you to come with me but the decision has to be yours.”

Maul looks at him for a long moment. 

“If you leave,” the captain says, “I’d be happy to see you again. If you want.”

“Where are we going,” Maul asks. He can feel him smile against his skin. The captain nods, silently asking confirmation. Maul squeezes his fingers, the way Rose does when she touches him. Rex kisses his knuckles then lets their hands rest against his thigh.

“Kadavo. We’re taking control of the trade,” the captain says, raising a cheeky eyebrow. “You didn’t hear? Someone started a war against the slavers and we decided to follow in their footsteps.”

Maul grins with all his teeth. “Do you require assistance?” Rex laughs, leaning down; he puts his hands on the mattress and carefully straddles him, kissing his jaw, then his neck, pulling a full body shiver out of him.

“Hmm, maybe,” he mutters against his temple, mouthing it. Maul groans, his arm curling around the small of Rex’s back to keep him there, softly pulling him closer. “Why? You volunteering?” the captain asks, rolling his hips slowly. Maul closes his eyes and hums.

“Yes,” he hisses, pulling him down to grind. The captain moans low in his throat. Maul twitches at the sound and has to swallow down a whimper. 

Rex stands up abruptly when his comlink beeps again and puts distance between them, raising his arms. Maul stares at him, feeling like he got punched in the stomach. “I need to get to the hangar bay. Join me there in an hour, alright?” he says then disappears into the refresher. 

Maul stares at the door for a long while.

When Rex comes out, he shrugs, says, “I told you I don't have time. Have fun on your own,” then leaves. 

Maul throws his pillow at him but hits the closing door. After half a minute he leans back down to glare at the ceiling.

Someone knocks on the door ten minutes later. 

“Maul?” Rose calls. He gets up to open. As soon as she sees him, she grins. “You really _are_ here,” she says.

Maul tilts his head. She saw him yesterday. Did she forget? “Yes,” he confirms, feeling the need to vocalise even though he does not understand why. She beams—for a moment, he almost flinches. It has been a long time since someone looked at him like this. 

Now that he thinks about it, Rose is the only one who looks at him like this. Which is probably why it has been a long time.

He walks away to sit on the bed, avoiding her gaze for a moment.

“Are you coming with us?” she asks, flopping down next to him. 

“You are going,” he says. Somehow, the knowledge fills him with anxiety. He glances back at her. Rose nods, smiling. “This will be war,” he tells her. She could get hurt. She _will_ get hurt. Wounds are not always visible.

Rose observes him for a moment. “I know,” she says. “It won't be my first time.” She puts her hand around his elbow and squeezes.

Maul swallows around nothing. He knows this. He knows she fought against the First Order. Somehow, the knowledge does not appease his anxiety.

“Have you kept training,” he mutters. He stares at his discarded clothes on the ground. She nods.

“No one knows Teräs Käsi, here, but Rex taught me other hand-to-hand techniques.” She shoulders him. “The only thing stopping me from beating you is your connection to the Force now. Otherwise? Hell, I'd win every time.”

“Really,” he says wryly with a side glance. Rose snorts.

“Yeah,” she says with a scoff. “But I can't show you because I need to keep my talent a secret.”

He stares her down. She stares back. He can see she is stopping herself from laughing—it is in the corners of her mouth and in the way her cheeks twitch minutely. Eventually, he is the first one to give up; he snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I missed you,” she says, taking something out of her jacket. “I found a protein bar on Dantooine that was _really_ good. Tastes a bit like the spicy stew thing you made. I thought you'd like it.”

He recognises it before she can fully show it to him. “Ija'iatnem ōbiamu?”

“Yes!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “Did you try it?” He nods. “So? Was it good?” He nods again. Every time he ate one he thought about her. “Where did you find some? I never see any!”

“The Delphidian Cluster,” he replies. When she hands it to him, he opens it, cuts it in half and shares it with her. “I have an entire crate in the ship,” he says between mouthfuls.

“I will require _at least_ a third of it,” she comments.

“You can have half.”

She kisses his shoulder. They stay like this for a moment, content in the silence. It feels… _good_ to be beside her again. 

“My room is four doors down on the left,” she says. “I have a sonic shower. I don't like the water ones; I never had one when I was younger and I still think it's weird.” She shrugs. “You can use it if you want.”

Maul stays silent. There is a refresher _here._ The captain did not say anything but he doubts the man cares if he uses it. He knows it is a water shower. He heard it.

“How do you know,” he asks, staring at the refresher. From here, he cannot see if there is also a sonic.

“I saw you coming out of your ‘fresher multiple times and you were never wet. I think Rex was the only one using water on the ship.” She snorts. “I bet he was happy to have all the hot water for himself.”

He puts his chin on her forehead and closes his eyes when she slings her arms around him. 

“You're coming with us, right?” she murmurs. He hums in confirmation. Her hold tightens. “Okay.” 

“Do you have nothing to do before we leave,” he mutters.

“Oh, I have plenty,” she says but does not move. After a couple of seconds, Maul rolls his eyes.

“Rose.”

“Give me a minute,” she grumbles. “They can handle things without me for _at least_ another minute.”

He sighs but does not push her away. She does not comment on it. Her comlink beeps. She fumbles a bit then activates it.

“I think Poe is going to pull his hair out if you don’t come here,” the defector murmurs. Frantic voices can be heard in the background. “Ives and Holo have been vibrating for the past half hour and it’s stressing him out, which means it’s stressing me out. And I don’t understand half of what the Mandos say because they don’t want to speak Basic. Help.”

Maul snorts. He yelps when she pinches his ribs in retaliation. He glares at her with all the indignation he can muster while she stands up, grinning.

“I’m coming,” she says in her comlink then deactivates it. “Go shower, stink man!” she tells him before opening the door and leaving. 

He hesitates for a moment then eventually decides to go to her refresher. He does not bother putting his shirt on; he picks it up with his tabard and cloak, ties his staff to his—oh. He forgot his obi in the ship. He blinks, takes a look at himself and huffs. Last night, in his hurry, it seems he forgot to put on most of his clothes. He throws a glance at his shirt. When he discarded the captain’s, he threw it directly on top of his. The evidence of it is clearly visible on it. He scowls, dropping it on the ground, and his eyes slide over the room.

It is mostly empty—either because Rex owns little or because everything has already been transferred to the ship. He sighs heavily. Does he really need a shirt?

Maul decides he does not. He leaves the room without another glance, carrying his staff and his clothes, except for the shirt, and heads to the left. Fourth door. In the corridor there are two Mandalorians conversing with an unhelmeted Twi’lek. His lekku twitch when he sees him. The other ones look at him, their visor moving with his steps. One of them nods but says nothing while the other keeps talking. Maul watches them but does not say anything, entering Rose’s room.

Hers is as empty as the captain’s. There is, however, a couple of jumpsuits left and two shirts. He contemplates them for a moment then goes in the refresher. He showers quickly and efficiently. He goes outside, puts his boots on, his pants, his gloves then hesitates. With no shirt and no obi, wearing his tabard is going to be… odd. And Rose’s clothes are too small. 

He sighs, puts his tabard on and tries to cross it over his waist, tying it into a simple knot on his back, then he puts on his cloak. It will have to do.

Once he goes outside, one of the soldiers is here. Waiting for him it appears. The Twi’lek and the Mandalorians are watching them intently.

“You can fly your ship to Hangar 2, Dock Besh,” the soldier says then gestures at him to follow. He humours her, intrigued. “You will be in the _Nystullum_ with Command.”

Maul stops himself from scowling. The _Nystullum—_ the Mon Calamari cruiser from which he escaped. How fitting.

“You have a holocom scheduled with the acting First Senator and the Mandalore in five minutes. We are going to the war room. This is not optional,” she says, voice firm. She stops walking to glare at him. He can feel her anger—but also the apprehension she tries to hide. “You _have_ to talk to them.”

He scoffs. When she walks again, he still follows. “And if I don’t?”

“Then this entire operation could be compromised,” she snaps. “You started this. Do not jeopardize it before your work comes to fruition.”

Maul huffs but says nothing. He can see the war room from the other side of the hangar. Everyone around them walks briskly, focused on their tasks. 

He hears the captain even before he is inside. His voice is angry but he radiates calm. Beside him, the defector is flaring with anxiety. He really is very strong in the Force.

Maul stills before he steps inside. The defector stands in front of the holograms of two people, the captain next to him, wearing his full armour. White and blue—like the clones who went into the Jedi Temple with Darth Vader. The paint is pristine and the lines are all perfectly accurate—just like they were when Maul saw him stand in front of the Senate.

His hearts rattle more rapidly against his ribs; his breathing quickens and he can feel how his senses narrow in on the captain. Suddenly all Maul can see is _him._ His fingers twitch around his staff. He takes a step forward, then another, and another, closing the distance between them.

Something shifts in the room. He stands still, noticing the silence, eyes on the captain.

“Take off your hood, Sith,” one of the holograms says. He glances at her and smiles.

“Take off your helmet,” he taunts. The Mandalore’s hand clenches into a fist.

“Darth Maul,” the other one says. Some of her tendrils twitch. He huffs and rolls his eyes visibly. She hums. “Only Maul, then?”

He walks silently around the holotable until he settles in front of the captain and stares at them, impassive.

“Could you take off your hood, please?” the Nautolan asks, giving him a polite smile. “I heard a lot about you. I’d like to put a face to the name.”

Behind him, the captain’s anger flares. Maul leans slightly back and puts his staff on the holotable in front of him. He can feel how the room tenses at the gesture. He takes off his hood, raises his chin and scowls. 

The Mandalore tilts her helmet. “Your eyes are different,” she says. She sits back straighter. “You have not been consumed by the dark side of the Force.”

Maul does not react but he feels alarm rise within him. He says nothing.

“What makes you say that?” the Nautolan asks conversationally, her head turned towards the other hologram. She radiates calm. This woman does not need a booming voice to be heard. He cannot say if she has killed.

“His eyes are not yellow. They used to be.”

Ah. The Mandalore knew his original self, then. She crosses her fingers in front of her and asks, “Do you remember me?”

“No,” he replies truthfully. She nods.

“Do you remember Ezra Bridger?”

He looks at his staff, thinks about the name. He does not recollect anyone named Bridger or Ezra. After a moment of consideration, he replies, “No.”

“Do you remember Ahsoka Tano?”

He searches through his memories. “No.”

“Do you remember Bo-Katan Kryze?”

“Kryze,” he repeats, eyes narrowing. “House Kryze.” He huffs in disgust and shakes his head. “The House of the Duchess,” he spits. “The era of _weaklings._ No wonder you were decimated by the Empire.”

“Watch your words, Sith,” she says, voice thunderous. “Remember that your kind died with your Emperor.”

“My kind,” he snarls. He cannot stop the growl forming inside his chest. Some of the people flinch around him; others go for their blasters. He does not care. “My kind was murdered by the Sith.” He curls his hand around his staff. The Mandalorians in the room raise their blasters, aiming at him. “The Sith took _everything_ from me. The _Emperor_ took everything from me. Watch your words, Mandalore,” he growls, igniting his blades. “I will not hesitate to kill you if you challenge me.”

The Mandalore stands still. He can feel how the warriors around him are waiting for her command. Behind him, the captain is furious. Maul almost hesitates but—

He glances to the side, feigning paying attention to the Mandalorians around him. The captain has his back to him; he is aiming at the men around them. Not at _him._

Maul takes a step back so he can feel him behind him. The captain leans closer. The soldiers place themselves around them, ready to blast the Mandalorians if necessary. The defector is the only one who is not wielding anything—but Maul is no fool; he can feel how the Force is shifting around them, responding to his emotions. Should Maul fight, out of all the people in the room, the defector is the most dangerous.

The Mandalore snaps a sharp command in her native tongue. The warriors lower their blasters. Neither he nor Rex relax. The soldiers stay around them. She says something else; judging by the way the captain reacts, she is addressing him. He replies something—the words flow easily on his tongue but Maul feels the durasteel behind them.

“On your word?” she asks.

“On my word,” the captain replies.

The Mandalore nods, once, and says something that all the Mandalorians solemnly repeat.

“This is the Way,” the Nautolan says with a respectful curl of her tendrils. The Mandalore nods at her silently.

When the captain says, “Stand down,” the soldiers aim their blasters at the ground. Maul watches him holster his own then walk beside him. He does not tell him to deactivate his saber.

“The Senate is in disarray,” the Nautolan says. “We are still recovering from the loss of Hosnian Prime and First Order remnants are challenging our authority in the Mid and Outer Rims.” She sighs, crossing her legs. She rests her chin on the back of her fingers and grins.

Eyes narrowing, the defector speaks for the first time since Maul came in. “What are you getting at, senator?”

She laughs goodnaturedly. “Committees and inquiries take time. Bureaucracy takes time. It is tedious but necessary; it can also be to one’s advantage.” She glances back at the Mandalore; her tendrils twirl around her forearms. “I believe you do not need me to continue this meeting? I have other matters to attend, I’m afraid.”

The Mandalore turns her helmet towards them. “General?”

The defector nods sharply. “Thank you for your time, senator.”

“My pleasure,” she says with a grin then her hologram disappears. 

After that, the Mandalore exchanges terse words with the captain in her native tongue. Maul sees that one of the soldiers sign what she says to the others although he does not understand either language. 

It takes a couple of minutes but, eventually, the exchange is over. The Mandalore nods slowly, says something the Mandalorians repeat then cuts her transmission. The whole room sighs with the wave of relief the defector sends. As a silent response, the captain projects his calm and steadiness. It feels… natural, as if he has done this for years. Perhaps he did.

Maul looks at his armour, at the blue paint and the stylised eyes above his visor and deactivates his staff. He glances swiftly at the soldiers’ armours. The paint they all wear is the same shade of blue as the captain’s, although all of them–except the one who talked to Maul–wear other colours as well, all in unique patterns.

He feels the captain’s gloved fingers brush against his forearm and his eyes slide to his visor.

“Do you want to take your ship along?” Rex asks calmly. The calm he projects is twinged with something akin to… attachment. Maul does not understand it. “Because if you don’t, I was told there was a very important crate that had to be absolutely transferred to our cruiser.”

“Really?” the defector asks with a frown. “What’s in there? Medical supplies? Weapons?”

“Protein bars,” Maul deadpans. The other man stares at him for a long moment then blinks.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs with awe. “You found iatnems!”

“Iat—” the captain scoffs. “Where did you find them?”

“The Delphidian Cluster.” He grins at the sharp twinge of surprise coming Rex.

“Oh, no,” he says with a shake of his head. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t meet them.”

“Meet who?” the defector asks.

“Reveth misses you,” Maul tells him. The captain sighs heavily.

“Of course she does,” he says tiredly. “I’m the only one who lets her cheat at sabacc.” He takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. Maul cannot see his eyes but he has no doubt they are watching him. “I can’t believe you met Ithano.” He sighs heavily and lets his helmet rest against Maul’s forehead, the material softly poking at his horns.

He feels a sharp sense of surprise and shock coming from multiple people in the war room. He stops himself from startling so as not to disturb the position the captain is in. Since he is only radiating content, Maul ignores the rest.

One of the Mandalorians approaches them. “Rayk,” she says. The captain’s helmet turns to her. She says something in rapid Mando’a, to which he replies just as fast. She nods; her visor turns to Maul and she nods once again sharply. She turns back and leaves.

“She calls you ‘Rayk’,” he says, guessing. The captain nods.

“The younger ones learned Mando’a before Basic,” he explains. “It’s difficult to pronounce ‘Rex’—they don’t have the right sound for it. Some of them still struggle with Basic grammar so it’s easier to relay everything in Mando’a.”

“I see,” Maul replies. He steps aside. After a moment of hesitation, he taps the captain’s wrist with one finger, once, then folds his hands into his sleeves, the staff a relaxing weight in his fist. He glances around. He should go to his ship. Without another word, he walks around the holotable and leaves. He stops dead in his tracks when he feels a spike of fear coming from the captain—although it is quickly extinguished. Maul lingers. He looks for the soldier who brought him here. His eyes narrow when he sees her; she was already watching him. All of the soldiers were.

“Hangar 2, Dock Besh?” he asks in confirmation. She gives him a sharp smile and nods. He takes a quick glance at the captain then nods back.

No one tries to stop him on his way out. He can feel they are all aware of his presence. Most of them are wary; what is surprising is that the Mandolarians are mainly curious. He expected them to be more… aggressive toward him.

Those on watch at the edge of the base acknowledge him with a nod. One of those in the watchtowers raises their hand and says something he does not understand.

“He say you have good stars,” one of the Mandalorians on the ground tells him in a sharp accent. Maul stops and gives her a narrow look. She shakes her head and says something in her native tongue. “No threat. Rayk strong. Mandokarla.” She thumps her chestplate with her fist six times. “Keep him.”

One of those in the towers laughs loudly. “Otherwise, someone might steal him from you! He has everything a Mandalorian looks for in a partner, you know,” the man says, leaning over the railing. “You just crushed a lot of people's hopes with that kiss.”

The one next to him shouts something at the other one and makes a brusque gesture. They leave him be after this. He decides not to reply to any of that.

He has no idea when he even kissed the captain. He finds, however, that he would not mind doing it again. At least so he can remember it this time.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I present to you “[ija'iatnem ōbiamu](https://umaibou.jp/img/product/umaibo06_img02.png)” aka the childhood snack I forgot I loved until we began lockdown and it became impossible for me to buy?


	15. Kadavo III

  
  
  


It surprises Maul but the only being he can feel following him is one of the soldiers. As long as the ship is not in sight, he will ignore her. She is extremely discreet; were it not for her Force signature, he would have never noticed her.

He was not entirely certain last night but he is now; a Force sensitive trained in this jungle. Somehow, he doubts it is the defector—no, it has to be someone else. Someone strong as well but different—rather than being constantly connected to the Force without noticing like the defector, this one had trouble staying attuned.

The soldier puts distance between them. She is, however, relentless; even he picks up the pace, she stays on his tracks.

“What do you want,” Maul snarls after a while, turning back, staff in hand not ignited yet.

It takes a couple of seconds but the soldier comes out of her hiding place. She is holding her blaster with a finger on the trigger but she is not aiming at him. Her indignant scowl leaves much to be desired; it is more pitiful than threatening.

“You are leaving,” she accuses angrily.

Maul gives her a narrow look. He keeps walking, ignoring her. He can hear her heavy booted feet on the ground running to close the distance between them. She puts herself in his path and does not budge. He bares his teeth in warning—she does the same.

“You don’t scare me, shiny,” she spits. She stomps then plants her boots in the ground, growling. “I will stop you from leaving whether you want it or not.”

Maul cannot stop himself; he snorts. “You will do _what,_ ” he says with a scoff.

“You can’t leave.”

He glares. “I am _not_ a soldier like you,” he snarls. She huffs.

“I know that, di'kut,” she snarls back with a frown. Why is she telling him he is stubborn? “You’re not leaving.”

Maul stays silent for a moment. His jaw clenches. She keeps glaring at him. He averts his gaze and mutters, “I am not leaving.” He puts his hands behind his back. “I am flying my ship inside the cruiser.”

She stays silent for a long moment. Her shields are strong—he cannot feel anything from her. “Fine,” she grumbles. “I will go with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrow. “I don’t trust you. Let’s go.”

Maul starts snarling when her comlink beeps. “Letsap?” the captain says. “Where are you?”

The soldier stares at him with a vicious smile and replies, “I am with Maul. Keeping him company. Comm me when he can fly his ship to the cruiser.”

He scowls but stays silent. She raises her chin in defiance.

“It’s better if he does it when we leave atmo,” the captain says. “We’re almost done here—thirty minutes at most. Can you come back in twenty-five?”

“Why?” she asks with a frown. “Do you need my help?”

“No, I just want to say goodbye.”

She looks at the ground in front of her for a moment and simply blinks. “Okay,” she says eventually with a frown. She turns off her comlink. She does not move. Maul stares at her then turns around, going to the ship.

After half a minute, he hears her running after him. He rolls his eyes but says nothing when she slows down to walk besides him.

“My name is Letsap,” she says after a couple of minutes spent in silence. “It’s a Yavinese cake. It’s my favorite food in the entire galaxy.”

Maul stays silent.

“You bring me meilooruns when you come back and I’ll make you some. You’ll see; it’s good. Poe taught me,” she states, nodding slowly. “Did you choose your name?”

“No,” he says.

“Like the natborns, then? Someone chose for you?” When he does not reply, she shrugs. “I think it’s alright if they have good taste or if you can change it. Because I wouldn’t like it if someone chose my name and it was something ugly. Like ‘Zymod’. Zymods are ugly, right?” Silence. “Lizards are always ugly. People aren’t but animals yes. I think Trandoshans are nicer than Humans think. Zymods are ugly and mean.”

Maul scowls. She ignores it.

“Spanner chose her name because it’s what Rose is looking for most of the time. She’s always grumbling she can’t find the right spanner and it sounds pretty in her voice. I like it. It’s a nice name. I don’t really like ‘Ives’ but I don’t want to hurt him so I don’t tell him. What do you think about ‘Ives’?” Maul says nothing. “I don’t think he’s going to change it. He took it before Rex arrived and he even uses it offsite. I don’t really tell him but I thought ‘Meiloorun’ sounded nicer. It’s full of nice sounds and it’s good food. But Ives wanted a natborn name so he got a natborn name. I don’t really understand the appeal because some of them are very ugly; there’s a medic who came here and his name was Yonak. It’s a bit ugly, I think. Do you like it?” His jaw clenches and he stays silent. She shrugs. “Holo told me it’s a Rodian name but he’s not a Rodian. Yonak’s a Hybrid but he’s got no Rodian in his blood. I never asked him but I don’t think he got Rodian blood. Maybe he does; I should ask him. I don’t understa—”

“Do you never shut up?” he sneers when he realises she is _not_ going to stop talking even if he does not reply to her questions.

She huffs. “You don’t talk and I don’t like this silence.”

“ _I_ do.”

“Well, I don’t so let me finish.” She frowns and sighs heavily. “Rose says you're nice but I don't really think she understands what ‘nice’ is. You're just mean.” She sighs again, this time in clear frustration. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“The Hybrid,” he says then closes his eyes. Why did he answer her.

“Ah, yes, Yonak. It’s his name. I think. Maybe it’s Silood.”

Maul stops walking to stare at her. “They do not sound similar at all.”

“They’re both ugly,” she counteracts with raised brows. He rolls his eyes but concedes her point. Both names are, indeed, ugly. They start walking again. “I looked up Rodian names and I don’t really like them. There’s a Rodian on base whose name is Taquito and this one I like. But I don’t like him. He’s mean.”

“How so.”

“He keeps talking to Rex.” She huffs. “We can all see Rex doesn’t really like him but Taquito keeps talking to him. He’s a bit of a di’kut, I think.”

Letsap talks the entire time. Even when Maul opens the ship, she keeps talking. Even when they are inside and Maul takes off his tabard to put on a shirt and gloves, she keeps talking. When he puts an undertunic, a tunic and his tabard, she talks. He ties his obi in silence and she keeps talking.

He sits down in the pilot seat and she sits down in the copilot seat, talking. She is worse than Cas but the captain wants to see her soon. She will leave. He just has to wait.

“Who chose your name?” she asks. Maul had hoped she would ignore him if he kept his eyes closed.

“My Master,” he replies.

“You don’t have a master.”

At this, he opens his eyes and stares at her. He huffs. She seems so sure of herself. “What tells you so,” he asks.

“He’s dead,” she says, as if it could answer everything.

“It would not be the first time,” he mutters.

She shrugs. “We’ll just have to kill him again, then.” She sits up and turns on the holocom. “I’m adding my own comm, so we’ll be able to send messages to each other.”

“Why would I do that.”

“I don’t know. If you’re bored, I think.” She gets up. “I have to go. Bye, Maul.” She opens the airlock and leaves.

Maul stares at the copilot seat for a long moment. When he sees the _Nystullum_ taking off on his radar, he turns on the engines. He flies after the cruiser and hails it when they leave atmo. He receives the all clear and heads to Hangar 2, Dock Besh. There is only one dock left so it is not difficult to see where he needs to land.

Then, Maul hesitates. He has no idea what he is supposed to do. His eyes narrow. All the ships around him are Mandalorian. All the people in the hangar wear beskar.

He hears loud knocks on the hull, where the airlock is. There is someone there. He can mostly sense curiosity coming from them. He opens the ramp and scowls.

It is one of the Mandalorians who talked to him near the watchtowers. She waves when she sees him.

“Long flight,” she says. She raises a finger. They can feel the pull to hyperspace. She raises her helmet at him. “You fight?”

Maul cocks his head. He can feel her eagerness. He nods slowly.

“Come,” she says, making a gesture at him to follow her. Out of curiosity he does, putting on his hood.

She leads him through corridors. Most of the people they cross paths with are not Mandalorians. They all glance at him warily but do not say anything. They go to a different level. Once they step outside the lift, he only sees armoured people. They all nod to him.

She shows him to a wide training room. Most of the ones who spar are wearing beskar but not all of them. Some have their helmets on while others do not.

The Mandalorian who spoke from the watchtower stands up once they step inside.

“Ah, yes, yes!” he exclaims, taking his helmet off. He grins widely; his lekku twitch. “You’re going to be fun! Where did you find him?”

“His ship,” the one he came with says. “I take him before Rayk,” she finishes her sentence in Mando’a.

“You picked him up before Rex can give him things to do,” he translates. She nods sharply. He looks at Maul. “We never fought against a Force wielder. Indulge us.”

“Were you not on Exegol,” he asks. They both shake their heads. The male points to the ceiling.

“Not on ground,” he says. “We mostly gunned down TIE fighters.”

Maul nods silently. He takes a look around. He walks to the mats; the warriors around still and give him space. He takes off his cloak and throws it to the side along with his gloves. He takes his saber in hand and looks at them in question.

“Body,” the female says. She takes her own blasters and puts them on the ground. Maul nods and places his saber on the cloak. She asks something in her native tongue.

“Us two against you?” the male asks. Maul simply adopts a combat stance. The mandalorian grins. “This is going to be fun.”

The male is vicious but it is the female that Maul is wary of. He has no doubt she had been trained to fight against Force users. She adapts quickly and expects him to play with gravity—he does not but he sees that she would be ready in case he did.

It takes them five minutes to tap out. 

There is no resentment; rather, they seem satisfied. The most curious who did not try to hide their interest in the impromptu spar walk forward and ask for a round. Maul’s body thrums with the idea of besting more people. He accepts silently. There is a constant stream of fighters, despite the fact that no one succeeded in making him yield—or perhaps for this very reason. The room radiates with happiness. He understands after a while that they are not trying to best him—they just want to spar to entertain themselves. Clearly the Mandalorians present here decided to go back to their warrior roots. It makes Maul’s blood sing with adrenaline. 

He can feel it when something shifts. The room starts vibrating with anticipation—he can hear hushed whispers around him. Maul grins. He does not need to turn around to know who just came in.

“Room for one more?” the captain asks and Maul chuckles. When he takes off his obi and tunics, the Mandalorians cheer.

“Captain,” he acknowledges and his eyes widen when he sees him. Rex is in full armour. He can feel his amusement; he probably noticed Maul’s surprise.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says and closes himself off entirely, shields blocking him out.

Maul smiles with all his teeth.

He feigns going for his throat then leaps back, hurling him over his shoulder. It is too late when he realises his mistake—Rex is in _full armour._ He is much, much heavier than anticipated. Maul has to duck hastily to avoid a slap of his skirt.

The captain rolls gracefully and lands on his feet; he jumps straight to him, parries his kick and takes his shin. Maul’s eyes widen. Before he can realise what is happening, he is flung to the other side of the room. He softens his fall but has to roll away quickly because Rex is already over him—the captain’s hand grazes his arm and he knows this is going to be harder than anticipated.

Maul becomes more attuned to the room; he feels the minds of those watching them. They are all solely focused on them and, whenever Rex moves, there is a rise of anticipation and he feels the sharpness with which they look at the captain, not _him._ Suddenly, he understands—Rex is not sparring with him; he is demonstrating his worthiness to _them._

Maul circles him silently. His mouth twitches. If only they knew—if only they saw how breathtaking he is when he fights. He raises his chin and gives Rex a narrow look. He will show them how fierce their captain is.

He stills at once. Rex stills with him. Then, slowly and deliberately, he puts his weight on his back foot, bends his knee, front leg extending, turns his torso sideways and raises his arms, palms open. Teräs Käsi is as deadly as it is ostentatious. The captain’s hands twitch with excitement. 

As soon as Rex moves, Maul slides into a tooka stance and strikes.

And there, _there,_ he sees it—the captain’s mind calculating his next move, choosing the right parry and discarding the kick that Maul will block, his body flowing with the motions while his mind is burning with probabilities and instincts. He is beautiful. The galaxy made an unforgivable mistake depriving the captain of a connection to the Force.

It will take Rex less than a minute to win. Maul can already see it; the more he attacks, the more the captain becomes attuned to him. Fear is difficult to quench, the proof of his upcoming failure evident. What surprises him is his excitement. It seems impossible to understand—why is he so enraptured by the prospect of losing against Rex?

Another strike, another blow, once again both parried and he knows. The captain is making it last but he already won and they both know it. Maul does not back down. He tries again, leaps away and hurls himself at him but Rex puts his hands around his waist, throws him over his shoulders and drags him down on the mats with his own weight. Maul struggles, tries to kick him off but the captain spins and suddenly Maul is flat on his stomach, hands on his back and an armoured knee pushing his face flat on the ground. He snarls, thrashes and tries to push him off but to no avail. Rex’s gloved thumb brushes the inside of his wrist softly and Maul stops fighting instantly. The only way to dislodge him would be to push him with the Force.

He growls and Rex does not move. The room stays silent. Maul huffs, tries to calm his hammering hearts down and closes his eyes. Once he is back in control, he submits and whispers, “I yield.”

Rex squeezes his wrists then releases him, standing back up. When he extends his hand, Maul takes it and lets him pull him up. He grins, staring at the visor and rumbles, “I missed this.”

The female thumps on her chestplate and shouts, “Oya!” prompting all the Mandalorians to shout with her. The room bursts with fierce excitement but Maul only focuses on the captain. He feels shields tentatively dropping and he is hit with happiness, satisfaction, the exhilaration of victory and, behind all of this, unmistakable attraction. He grins, eyes narrowing, and he takes a step forward, lowering his chin.

The captain’s hand curls behind the back of his head and, when he pulls him against his helmet, Maul laughs in victory and instinctively rattles his horns against it. He can feel Rex’s fingers twitch and he hums low in his throat. If they were alone, Maul would have already pushed him on the ground and started taking his armour off.

“Later,” the captain promises, external comm deactivated, and Maul shivers with anticipation. Then, Rex is pulled away abruptly by overexcited Mandalorians wanting to congratulate him themselves. Maul huffs and steps away. He puts on his cloak and ties his staff with his obi but keeps the rest of his clothes in hand. He needs a shower.

The female walks towards him and slings her arm over his shoulders. He does not sense any ill intent so he lets her. She points at Rex then thumps his chest with her palm where his hearts reside. She says something to him in Mando’a then waves at the unhelmeted male to ask him to translate.

“Varrik speak Basic,” she says. The male grins and his lekku twitch with joy. She repeats her words.

“She says you chose well,” he translates. “He’s a fierce warrior.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “If you want to take a shower now, we’re going to be discussing strategies soon. You are more than welcome to participate.”

Some of the Mandalorians nod in agreement. “We can translate,” one of them says. “Until you learn.”

The female raises her finger at that. “Elek, elek,” she says with conviction. She thumps his chest again. “Mando’a easy.” Her comlink beeps. The Mandalorians around them stop talking immediately. She activates it and says something in her first language.

“Is Maul nearby?” is the response. He startles. He was not expecting to hear her. The female hands him her comlink silently.

“I am busy,” he replies.

“I don’t care,” Cas says. “Bridge in fifteen minutes.” She cuts off her end without waiting for his reply. He stares at the comlink and gives it back silently.

“My astromech’s the same,” one of the Mandolarians says with a sigh. A lot of the people around nod and thump at their chests. “We’re mostly done here, anyway. Ranah?”

The female releases her hold on him to cross her arms and hums. “Beskar’ade di’kut,” she says. She must be Ranah.

“Idiots,” someone says. Maul tilts his head.

“Idiots are stubborn,” he translates. Somehow, he thinks this is wrong. Varrik’s lekku twitch.

“ _Droids_ are idiots,” he corrects him. Maul’s eyes widen but he schools his expression quickly. “Ah! Someone did not give you the right word?”

He stays silent.

“You should go shower before your droid comms again,” one of them says. “It's never good to antagonize them for nothing.”

He nods sharply; Ranah thumps his back and others wave. He leaves to the sonics before the situation becomes more… awkward.

It is only when Maul is walking in the corridors that he realises he has no idea where the bridge is. He stands where he is for a long time and contemplates the options he has since he does not want to ask anyone. He does not have many.

“You’re looking for something, buddy?”

Maul suppresses his reaction. He turns around and stares at Poe Dameron.

“The bridge,” he says. The Human grins.

“I’m going there,” he tells him and gestures at him to follow. They take a lift. “So, I heard you may be in possession of iatnems. Are you looking for a trade? I can be your guy.”

Maul stares at him but says nothing. Poe Dameron grins and shakes his head. He leads him to another set of corridors; there are few Mandalorians here but those who see him all nod.

“They like you,” Poe Dameron whispers, leaning closer to him. “It’s a good thing.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know about you but I’d rather be friends with them than enemies. They’re not a very peaceful bunch, you know,” he says with a shrug. They enter the bridge. Maul looks around until he sees her.

She is berating someone next to the main holotable. It is surprisingly pleasant to witness this when he is not the one being lectured. The captain is at the holotable as well, visor set on the displayed charts. Poe Dameron walks to them, thumps his backplate but settles beside the defector, who is standing at the opposite side of the captain.

“I am talking to you,” Cas shouts. “You’ve been here less than a minute and already you don’t listen to me.”

Maul rolls his eyes but still walks closer to her. The captain’s visor raises to settle on him, following him across the room. He can feel his projected calm—behind it, there is a subtle curl of warmth.

“Why aren’t you listening?” Cas asks. Maul closes his eyes and sighs. He does not even understand _why_ he missed her. “There he goes. Unbelievable.”

“Come on, Cas,” Poe Dameron says with a wry smile. Maul looks at him and tilts his head. “He just spent hours sparring with Mandos. Let him breathe a little?”

“No,” she replies. “He had an entire year to breathe. Do _not_ enable him, Dameron.”

“Ouch,” he says with emphasis. “I got downgraded to ‘Dameron’ now?”

Rex snorts. “I never even went past my title.”

“Enough. Finn, restrain your enabler.” The defector blinks at her and frowns in confusion. She turns back to Maul. “This is important. _Listen._ ”

“Everything is ‘important’ with you,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. Poe Dameron raises his hand, pointing at him and nodding emphatically. “What do you want.”

“I’m the reason you’re all here, actually,” the defector announces. “I would’ve preferred if Danh was here as well, but—” He shrugs.

“I’ll take care of it,” Rex says, taking off his helmet. He puts it on the holotable. Maul lets his eyes trail over his armour. His hands twitch minutely. Efficent, more angular compared to its successors—unmistakably heavier but more durable. Rex cuts a striking figure in it; he walks around the holotable, the skirt emphasising each step he takes, soft brushes against his armoured thighs that force Maul to suppress shivers. He must admit he did not realise Rex's armour would have such an effect on him.

When he looks up, the captain is already staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Maul cocks his head in challenge. Rex averts his gaze but a smile quickly graces his face. The facial hair on his chin and cheeks has grown since this morning; he wagers it must be coarse and rough to the touch. He wonders how it would feel like to have the captain in his armour surround him, if his chin would elicit shivers every time it would come into contact with Maul's skin.

“So why are we here?” Poe Dameron asks with a frown. “Does it concern our pit stop or Kadavo?”

“Kadavo,” the defector says. “We have to talk about our strategy.”

“We already did?”

“Yeah.” The defector’s eyes slide to Maul. He gives him a narrow look in return. “When _he_ wasn’t included. Him being here is going to change everything.”

“How so,” Maul asks, shoulders tensing. The captain stiffens automatically in response. The defector raises an eyebrow.

“You almost took down the slave trade on your own, Maul,” he says slowly. “What do you think is going to stop us with you on our side?”

Around him, he can feel the way the room stills. The workers seem suddenly quieter; even the controls seem to go silent on their own. Poe Dameron straightens, looking at him, _into_ him, and Maul doesn’t need to see how his face goes blank to know it does while his mind is racing. What dawned on the defector dawns at once on everyone else on the bridge.

“Nothing,” he replies in a mutter. Nothing will stop them with Maul on their side. He should feel power invading his spirit—the sweet taste of victory and true freedom.

But he looks at the captain and the only thing he feels is dread.

  
  
  
  
  



	16. Krownest

  
  
  
  


“You seem… worried,” her advisor says. His hands are crossed in front of him. He’s been standing up for four hours now. She would say something if she wasn’t certain he would only tell her to mind her own business.

“I am,” the Mand’alor replies, taking off her helmet. She stands up, leaving it on her throne. She walks to the closest window and watches snow fall outside. “We cannot trust him.” She puts her hands behind her back. Djarin comes to stand besides her, his visor set on her face.

“The captain seems to think otherwise,” he argues. She smiles. He didn’t say it out loud but he didn’t need to—he doesn’t trust Rex. Whereas she was born in the middle of the Clone War, Djarin is old enough to remember it vividly. She never asked but she’s certain his aversion to droids he doesn’t know comes from this.

“Maul is extremely dangerous,” she says. “He is smart, conniving and manipulative. Anybody may fall for his tricks, given enough time.”

Ezra did. Her friend was far from being gullible yet he did. In a sense, she suspects even Ahsoka did—she never talked about him with affection but, sometimes, there was a glimpse of compassion in her eyes, silent remnants of her upbringing.

“Your Jedi did,” Djarin mutters, recollecting. His visor aims upwards at the white sky. Usually he's not the one to bring him up. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Sabine.”

Such simple words but, coming from a man like Djarin, they mean the galaxy to her. She would squeeze her friend’s hand if she thought he wouldn't tense. She doesn't.

“It’s okay,” Sabine replies softly, leaving the Mand'alor's accent behind. “It’s been decades now. I got used to it.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll find him,” she whispers with a small nod. “I’m getting tired of this planet anyway.”

Djarin nods but stays silent. He’s been standing by her side for two decades now. He’s her most trusted advisor and one of her closest friends. 

Rallying him to their cause may have been one of the best decisions she ever made. Even after the fall of the Empire, even after she proved herself a rebel first and foremost, uniting the Mandalorians was no easy task—and Clan Wren was far from being welcomed by all the Houses. Someone like Djarin, with no House, a clan of his own, and raised in the Way of the Mandalore was the best ally she could find—because _no one_ like Djarin would follow her if she were another traitor looking for power. 

Two decades—soon to be three—since he decided to stand with her and rebuild their people from the ruins of the Empire, plus decades of war and cultural erasure. He’s still here. Sabine holds the Darksaber, the title and the powers—but they rule together and they united their people together. There is no need for factions if beliefs are respected; while Sabine follows the rules she was raised with, Djarin follows his. And in the end, they want and believe in the same thing.

She can feel he is as worried as she is concerning Maul. It doesn’t reassure her in the slightest. The problem is that the Sith isn’t the biggest issue they’re facing and they can’t dedicate more to him than they already do. 

“I could… use the change of scenery,” Djarin comments. “I’m not very fond of snow.”

She bites her cheek. He’s not very fond of having his joints hurt is what he’s saying. Well, her neither.

“I’m not flying in that thing you call a ship,” she mumbles. His Razor Crest isn’t even a relic anymore—it’s a biological hazard at this point. He sighs heavily but doesn’t try to protest.

Sabine wonders privately what Bo-Katan would do in her position. She thinks she would send assassins to kill Maul—if she didn’t decide to do it herself. But the times have changed. Mandalore is rebuilding now, getting stronger every day, and, considering the disarray the galaxy is in right now, they’re probably the strongest. She could kill Maul. She _should_ kill him—galactic peace must outweigh her own happiness.

Yet Maul is still alive and Sabine has no plan to kill him before she is certain.

“You’ll make a martyr of him,” Djarin whispers. She grimaces. Of course he can guess where her mind went. “You can’t act until he’s made his move.”

She glances at him with curiosity. With who is she talking—the bounty hunter or the reluctant advisor? She doesn’t even know if there’s a difference anymore. Her eyes glide back to the white sky.

“I had this single second,” she begins, watching snow falling on the ground. “Just this tiny instant when I was so sure I would finally get an answer. It was just the blink of an eye but I _felt_ it—for just one heartbeat, I was fully convinced I was going to see Ezra again.” She sighs, smiling sadly. Djarin doesn’t say anything but he shifts minutely. They’re not touching but he’s closer. She’s so used to it by now that she dubbed it the Din hug.

“Did you warn Ranah about him?” he asks after a comfortable moment spent in silence. She shakes her head.

“No,” she still says out loud. “I don’t need to. She knows what she’s doing and I have faith in her.”

He nods. “You’re shaping her to take your position,” he states. Sabine doesn’t have the energy to deny it. He would’ve guessed sooner or later anyway. “Why her?”

“She never knew the Empire,” she says. “She has what it takes and people follow her.” 

Djarin hums. He’s not convinced. 

Ranah is _not_ House Vizsla but her clan is still close to it; she was raised in the Way of the Mandalore while her brother follows the Kalevalan principles. They’ll make a good pair of rulers and they’ll keep the most sceptical clans from seceding.

“She reminds me of someone,” Sabine says. 

Ranah is different from Ahsoka but they both have fire in them and this indescriptible aura that gives people courage and faith. She may be still young but Sabine wasn’t truly ready either when she took on the title. You can never be. 

“Why? Do _you_ want to replace me?” she asks when he stays silent. She stops herself from smirking.

His visor slowly turns towards her. “If you do this,” he says, dipping his chin. “I will hunt you down.” She tries to stay impassive. She doesn’t succeed. “I’m serious. Don’t do this.”

“Look at us,” she says, snorting. “Old people trying to get away from our responsibilities.”

Din shrugs, letting out a tired sigh. “I need to sit down,” he says. “My knees hurt.”

“You stayed up for _hours._ ”

“There were people watching us. I wasn’t going to just lean down and snooze against your armrest while Clan Kast was complaining.”

“She took so much time,” Sabine mutters, rolling her eyes. “I swear she does it just because she can.”

“This is your fault. I told you not to insult her cousin,” he says wryly, pulling up a chair and slowly sitting down. His knees crack so loudly she’s certain the sound echoes throughout the room. He sighs. “That captain. Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Jesse used to say he was the best of them,” she replies, throat going tight. It’s been years now. Decades even. It’s still difficult for her to think about him.

Last year, it was Alexsandr. Zeb told her it was a peaceful process, which is a relief in itself, but it still stings. When she hears about long-time friends these days, most of the time it’s because they died. It’s very selfish but she sincerely hopes she’ll never get to hear about Hera’s death. She’d rather march away before her, if she can.

“You told me he used to say his General was the best as well,” Din reminds her. “And we both know what Vader did.” He extends his legs and winces. “Dank farrik. My knees really hurt.”

“It’s because they’re tired of supporting your grumpiness,” she retorts. He sends her a rude gesture. “Rex seems to be a good man. Honorable. Doesn’t mean he can’t fall for Maul’s tricks.” She scowls. “He gave him a Keldabe right after our comm.”

“How do you know that?”

“Orja commed me,” she says. “He did it in front of the commandos. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

Din stays silent, crossing his arms. “Huh,” he says after a while. “Huh. I didn’t expect that.”

She didn’t either.

“I don’t know what game Maul is playing. Either way, we better stay vigilant. This man is bad omens,” she mutters. “And the galaxy didn’t get rid of the Sith to have one sprouting out of nowhere.”

Din nods. “What do you want to do?” he asks.

Sabine looks at the snow on the ground. It’s still fresh—there are no footsteps, no trails. Nothing but a blanket of cold.

“We know where he is now. I want to be sure he really doesn’t remember—because if he does, I will make him talk,” she promises.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “Either way, we must kill him.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the holidays coming, since I'm working on another long wip, I won't be able to do much editing so I'll update on Wednesday instead of Monday!


	17. Ryloth

  
  
  
  


He wakes up before the end of the night cycle. He stares at the ceiling and, for an instant, he is frozen in fear. Maul does not remember what he dreamt about. His body does not seem to care. His hearts are rattling against his ribs; his lungs are burning and all his muscles refuse to relax. He forces himself to breathe slowly, to inhale, hold, then exhale. He repeats the pattern for a moment until he finally deems himself enough in control of his body. He sits up and looks around him. He could train here but, from what he can sense, not many people are awake right now. If he could go train in the sparring room where he saw all the Mandalorians—the chances of him being on his own are high enough to make him consider the idea. 

Maul grits his teeth for what must be half an hour before he gets up and opens the airlock. He puts on his cloak and takes his staff with him. He walks to the sparring room scowling. The crewmembers he encounters all step away to let him pass with wide eyes. It angers him even more.

When he is inside the sparring room, he is in a foul mood. He throws his cloak away, ignites his blades and practices Juyo without warming up.

He grunts, jumps and slashes through the air, the motions ingrained in him and he revels in the way his body follows his mind’s directives. It is a matter of time now—he is certain of it. Soon, this body will fully feel like it is his own. 

Maul senses _him_ the moment he begins observing him. Neither of them acknowledges the other.

After half an hour, it becomes evident his presence is undermining Maul’s focus. “What,” he snarls, deactivating his staff. He paces back and forth and glares at him.

“Good evening,” the captain says. He is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “It's a _good_ evening, right?”

Maul does not understand. He scowls, giving him a narrow look.

“I'm asking because I was going to my quarters,” he begins, “Until I noticed the night crew getting anxious. Apparently, there's a raging Zabrak waging war on ghosts on the Mandalorian level,” he says. “Imagine how surprised I was when I understood it was you.” His face stays impassive. 

“You were not,” Maul mutters. Rex sighs.

“No,” he confirms with a tired smile. “Did you sleep at all?”

Maul stays silent for a moment. “Why,” he says, eventually. The captain shrugs.

“We're still in the middle of the night cycle,” he says softly. “Where do you sleep?”

“My ship.”

“Your—no. No, that won't do,” he says with a shake of his head. “I know those gunners and they're all karking uncomfortable. Come on.”

The captain pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the exit. Once he reaches the door, he turns around and asks, “Are you coming?”

Maul blinks. “Where,” he mutters.

“Bed,” the captain replies. “To sleep. During the night cycle.” When he makes no move to follow him, Rex sighs. “Maul. Please. I'm tired.”

He takes a step forward then clenches his fist around his staff. “I do not understand,” he says with narrowed eyes. “You do not need me to sleep.”

Rex observes him silently for a while. With careful steps, he comes closer, until they stand close enough that Maul is able to see the flecks of black in his irises. 

“Stay with me,” Rex whispers.

His throat closes up. Maul forgets how to form words all of a sudden. How strange that he felt so close to the captain a mere couple of hours ago but now it seems like there is an entire galaxy between them. Perhaps it is his lack of helmet. Or perhaps Maul has not reached balance yet.

“I’d like you to come with me,” Rex tells him. “But I understand if you don’t want to.”

Maul averts his gaze. He stares at the mats, hand clenching around his staff. He nods silently, a curt dip of his head. When he feels the captain’s gloved fingers settle under his chin, silently asking, Maul’s eyes slide up to his face.

“Do you want to?” the captain asks in a murmur. He has to suppress a shiver.

It feels incomprehensible for an instant; Maul has already seen him with his armour. Why are his fingers trembling when he thinks about touching the leatheris of his skirt?

“Yes,” he replies.

Rex leads him to his quarters. Maul expects to sense surprise, shock or even confusion whenever someone crosses their path but all he feels is relief. He did not realise his training would have such a strong impact on the crew. The captain opens the door, takes a fistful of his cloak and tugs him inside, walking backwards. Maul lets his eyes roam over the armour, humming in satisfaction.

“Ah, ah,” the captain says, taking Maul’s hands in his and away from him, thumbs brushing the inside of his wrists. “Sleep tonight. You’re exhausted.”

“No, I am not,” he argues immediately. 

Rex stares at him with a raised brow. Maul rolls his eyes but does not protest more. 

Sleeping for more than a couple of hours became… problematic. Apart from time spent in hyperspace, the chances of being attacked while asleep were too high to take the risk. With the captain beside him, his body may have less difficulty relaxing for a longer stretch of time. It did work last night. Perhaps it will work tonight as well.

“Shower,” the captain tells him. Maul freezes. “It’s a dual one. You can use the sonic.”

It occurs to him that he would have protested much more had he not been so tired. As it is, he goes to the sonic without a word. Once he steps out, he scowls. He has no clean clothes. He shrugs and opens the door. 

“Pants,” the captain says, throwing a bundle of fabric at his face. Maul catches it silently with a narrowed look. “I need a shower; don't wait for me.”

Rex disappears in the refresher, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, a bit dumbfounded. He puts on the pants without much thought and closes his eyes for an instant. He needs to lie down. He did not realise he was this tired.

Or perhaps sensing the captain’s exhaustion is impairing him. He does not know if Rex does it on purpose or if he is too tired to shield himself. Maul does not want to find out. If he asks him and the captain was unaware, it may force him to focus on his mental shielding—and Maul can at least admit to himself that the prospect does not appeal to him.

He flops down on the bed groaning, face sinking in the closest pillow, and he contemplates letting his legs dangle in the air. He sighs heavily and tries to reposition himself without grace, trying to slither up on the mattress like a disgruntled Hutt. He must be a sight to behold.

He is almost asleep when the captain comes out and the sound jolts him awake. He tenses, realising his back is entirely unprotected and his body is ready to spring when the bed dips under the captain's knee.

“There's a blaster under _this_ pillow and a vibroblade strapped here,” Rex says, slowly taking Maul’s hand to show him where they are exactly, “The other one’s here.” He squeezes his palm. “The door’s locked. We're in hyperspace and your lightsaber is right there.”

“Staff,” Maul corrects, eyes sliding to the captain's.

“Staff,” Rex amends with a small smile. “Lightstaff? Saberstaff?” Maul shrugs, eliciting a chuckle.

The captain lies down beside him, head turned to look at him. He raises the hand between them to Maul’s face and, slowly, his fingers brush his markings. He does not say anything.

Maul stares at him silently and does not try to stop him. He feels his eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion slowly dragging his body into a semi-conscious state and when the captain’s thumb grazes his lips he closes his eyes.

He falls asleep in less than five seconds.

  
  
  
  


Maul is the first to wake up. Considering the number of souls he can sense are awake, the night cycle just ended. He does not dare to move.

The captain is sleeping on Maul’s back. He is breathing hot air on his shoulder blade, his temple lying on Maul’s nape, head dangerously close to his horns. If he moves, he might hurt him. He lies still and finds that he does not mind.

Rex twitches after a couple of minutes; he lets out a small groan and moves until one of his legs traps Maul’s under its weight and the arm around him tightens its hold. He sighs heavily then starts snoring. 

Maul could push him away, making him fall off the bed. He could growl. He could thrash and untangle their limbs. He… does not. He closes his eyes and waits, not actively, in something rather similar to a meditative state without being one, drifting from asleep to awake again and again. 

Half an hour later, Rose knocks at the locked door. Rex groans loudly. “Poe is making breakfast!” she shouts behind the durasteel. “You better get there before me and Finn eat everything! You're gonna like it—trust me!”

“I always like it,” Rex rasps loudly, not moving from his place on Maul's back.

“I wasn't talking to you!”

The captain mumbles something unintelligible. He groans, twitches a bit, but does not get up or even release Maul from his grip.

“Captain,” he mutters after a couple of minutes, sensing him drifting back to sleep.

“Just a minute,” he mumbles against his skin. “You're warm.”

  
  


The captain falls back asleep. Maul does not say anything. He has to suppress a shiver when Rex slightly shifts, his lips now grazing his nape. He tenses despite himself, feels the muscles in his lower abdomen clench; the pace of his hearts fastens and the pulse of arousal is unmistakable.

“What’s wrong,” the captain mumbles immediately, his arm tightening its hold. Maul shivers, hands clutching at the bedsheets, and he senses a spark of curiosity from the captain. Silently, Rex moves his hand, fingertips grazing Maul’s skin, sliding from his shoulder to his hip and squeezing tentatively.

He cannot stop the small moan from coming out of his mouth.

It seems to have an effect on Rex; he tenses immediately at the sound and becomes more difficult to read, his shields raising softly—not a rejection but a silent suggestion to give him privacy nonetheless.

“Good morning,” the captain rumbles against his skin then proceeds to tug at his waist until Maul is flipped on his back. He looms over him, eyes roaming over his body and the evident heat in his gaze makes Maul’s throat close up and swallow instinctively, his hearts hammering against his chest. 

The captain’s hand settles on his shoulder only to follow the movements of his eyes, slowly mapping his body through touch, and Maul is pinned down under the lustful gaze, muscles clenching when his fingers brush them, body thrumming with something he does not quite understand—a baffling medley of anticipation, fear and lust. He can feel himself harden, words and sounds trying to escape his mouth but he stays silent and still, too afraid to end whatever this is by shaking the captain off his curious mood. 

“Can I—” Rex says, voice shaky and rough. He does not finish his question but the way he looks at him forces Maul to swallow down any sound trying to come out. He nods silently, granting him whatever he wants without even knowing what it is. Such a dangerous situation yet all he feels is anticipation coursing through his veins. 

The captain leans down and his lips graze the side of his neck. Maul's eyes close on their own and he releases a shaky breath. He feels him kissing skin, tentatively nipping it and he does not even think before tilting his head sideways to give him more space. 

“Maul,” Rex whispers roughly, legs trapping his between them, extracting a shiver out of him. At this precise moment, Maul knows he is going to say yes to any of the captain’s demands. 

But no words come after his name, only a slow, sinuous hip roll and Maul groans before he can stop himself, hands latching onto the captain's back, keeping him against him, Rex's weight pinning him to the bed. Lust takes control of his thoughts and he starts grinding, whimpers threatening to leave his mouth, the captain's teeth grazing his jugular. 

“Ah,” he lets out shakily, not knowing what to say or how to say it, mind muddled by wants and urges and a tinge of fear. Rex thrusts against him again and Maul can feel how hard they both are—he shivers uncontrollably and starts humming in pleasure.

The captain chuckles, his hands brushing against his ribs, then begins to rock his hips rhythmically, a tortuous roll that takes away any sense left in Maul. He tips his head back and groans in response to the throbbing pulses in his abdomen. He can feel Rex's smile against his skin; his hands twitch on the captain’s back, keeping him close and over him, the sensation of being trapped fuelling his arousal.

“Captain,” he releases in a breathless whisper, writhing beneath him. Rex’s hand grips a trembling thigh and squeezes, forcing Maul to close his mouth, choking back a whimper.

“Let me hear you,” the captain whispers against his jaw with a hard thrust of his hips, eliciting a moan out of him. “That’s it,” he says breathlessly, rocking more quickly and the words make Maul shiver and gasp; he twists until he can curl his legs around the captain’s waist, grinding more demandingly, growling at the muted waves of desire, want, heat and need seeping out despite Rex's shields, flooding his mind and muddling his thoughts through a lustful haze.

_Look at me,_ Maul wants to say, to growl in a command or to viciously demand in a hiss, but he suspects it would rather sound like a plea, desperate and pathetic, so he clamps his mouth shut and tries to control his breathing. He gasps when the captain tugs at his pants, his hands so close to where he wants them yet not close enough; Maul untangles his limbs to help him, sensing the desperation in Rex's movements, frantic fingers clutching at the fabric and dragging it down with haste.

“Tell me what you want,” the captain pleads against his chest, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses rendering Maul incoherent and unable to speak. He closes his eyes in frustration, jaw clenching, and lets his nails rake through Rex's hair. There is a word uttered, one Maul does not understand, and he wants to ask but nothing comes out. He whines in frustration—it starts as a low, muted sound but quickly turns into a growl, a loud demand; the captain stills, his eyes sliding immediately to Maul’s face and whatever he sees propels him forward until he is looming once again, his gaze roaming over Maul’s face, a small, confused frown gracing his features. 

“Talk to me—” Rex says, ending the demand with the word he does not understand, fingers tracing his markings softly, the touch a graze more than anything. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers roughly.

Maul stays silent. He tries to convey his desire but nothing comes out, fear petrifying him. 

Rex sits back up, creating distance between them, eyes widening.

“We can stop,” he murmurs, raising his hands. Maul's breathing quickens, muscles tensing, and he knows he has to regain control because Rex flinches, raising on his knees. He is sending the wrong message but he does not know how to stop. “We don't have to—”

Maul whines in panic, hands latching onto the captain, eyes fluttering shut when Rex's fingertips come into contact with his skin, grazing his hip bones. He pulls him down abruptly, until he can nuzzle the side of his neck and bit—

“Out!” is the shout startling them both at once, followed by violent knocks on the door. “I want you both out of this room now!” Cas demands loudly, hammering against the door. “The—” she says a stream of words he does not understand, “—wants to see you both in ten minutes! If you are not out of this room in half that time, I will open the door by force!”

Maul feels the indignation rousing from Rex even before he starts yelling in Mando’a at the closed door. Stubborn and foolish. Cas will not leave them in peace; it is futile to argue. 

“Captain,” he mutters. Rex stops yelling instantly to look at him. Maul blinks, throat tightening once again, and he raises his hand, silently asking for him to lie back down against him. And Rex does.

“Later,” he whispers in his ear, breathing deeply, the captain's scent invading his senses. 

There is this word again, the one uttered in a language he does not understand, the one that seems to rouse something in Rex—something Maul has trouble understanding, muted by the shields and too foreign for him to parse through. “We don't have to do anything,” the captain says right after, slowly, carefully, and he wants to growl in frustration. 

Instead, Maul pulls him in a tight hold and closes his eyes. Rex does not try to move.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Poe Dameron finds them as soon as they are in the corridor; he pushes something in Maul’s hands, a closed box of some kind. “Tell me what you think about it!” he says over his shoulder with a wave, walking briskly away. When he looks at Rex’s visor, he receives a shrug.

“If that’s what I think it is, you’re really going to like it,” he says, tugging him forward. “Come on. If we want this to go well, we better not be late.”

“Late to what,” Maul says dryly. Cas is not even here. They could have stayed in the room. He glances at the door with a twinge of regret. The captain brushes gloved fingers against his forearm; he has to suppress a shiver but also stop himself from tensing.

“We should have time tonight,” Rex mutters. “I have nothing planned. If you avoid getting invited somewhere, we should be good.”

Maul follows the captain silently. When they take the lift to the Mandalorian level, his eyes narrow.

“Why are we here,” he asks and, of course, Cas is waiting for them in front of the lift. 

“Commander Dahn is crucial in establishing a strong Mandalorian alliance,” she says without preamble. “Your little speech yesterday seems to have strengthened our bonds.”

“What speech?” Rex asks, falling back into steps besides Cas as soon as she starts walking. Maul puts himself on her other side, eyeing the corridor they are in. It is empty but he can sense people nearby.

Cas produces a hologram of Maul; he is baring his teeth, face twisted into a snarl. _My kind,_ he growls. _My kind was murdered by the Sith. The Sith took_ everything _from me. Watch your words, Mandalore. I will not hesitate to kill you._

“I can understand why,” the captain says roughly, twitching. Maul's eyes widen until he can control himself. He ducks his head, the hood sliding down his horns, hiding his face. He cannot confirm it but… He knows this tone. He has only heard it when they were… alone. 

Maul has to stop himself from humming deep in his chest in satisfaction.

Cas scoffs. “Organics,” she says wryly. She waves a dismissive hand at Rex. “They're not _aroused,_ captain; they're appreciating his aggressiveness. Threatening their leader invigorates them. They like challenges and they’re loyal to her. Do not embarrass me in front of them with your biological quirks.”

Maul chuckles when he senses Rex’s indignation and hears him snarl words that seem to be insults. 

“What are you wearing? These aren't your clothes,” Cas notes with disgust. He rolls his eyes.

“The cloak is mine.”

“What about the rest? You look ridicul—”

Maul ignores her.

The sparring room he was in last night is full of people now. When they walk by the entry, some of the Mandalorians nod or wave when they see him. Maul does not know how to react.

Someone shouts in the corridor—he recognises her voice.

Ranah walks towards them with her arms raised, loud, booming words he does not understand coming out of her helmet’s comm. Varrik walks silently besides her, grinning. 

“Wake her up next time you train,” he tells Maul. “She'd like to see you with that laser staff of yours.” He points behind him. “Her room’s the first on the left; just bang on it.”

Maul stares at them but says nothing. Ranah keeps talking in fast Mando’a but Varrik does not translate anything. After a moment, the captain replies. Cas nods along.

Why is he here? He does not understand _anything._ He rolls his eyes, prompting Varrik to laugh. 

“They’re talking about yesterday,” he says, leaning towards him. The lek closest to him twitches. “She doesn’t want to go to the bridge with the stormtrooper.”

Maul glances at him. “Her name is Ranah Dahn,” he says. She is the Commander Cas wanted them to see. Varrik nods.

“She’s our clan leader. I’m Clan Dahn as well.” He taps at his pauldron. There is a symbol on it. “Our signet’s an aiwha.”

“Signet,” he repeats. Varrik tilts his head to the side, silently suggesting for them to go somewhere else. Maul shrugs in a gesture of compliance. “The Mandalorians are made of houses and clans. Our clan is not attached to a house but we’re usually considered to be allied with House Vizsla.”

Maul nods. He already knew about houses and clans but the added information is interesting nonetheless. “You take off your helmet,” he says. “She does not.” From what he can understand, this is a matter of belief. The Mandalorians who keep their helmets on seem to favour Mando’a over Basic—those who take them off seem to be more fluent in both languages.

“She was raised in the Way of the Mandalore. They never take them off. I follow the Kalevalan principles,” he explains. “We’re all united under our faith but we still have diverging opinions. It’s typical for Mandos.” His lekku twitch in a shrug. “If you ever talk with two Mandos who agree on everything then they’re karking liars.”

“Why are you telling me all this,” he asks. He glances back at the captain. He does not seem tense—whatever they are discussing with Ranah seems to go in his favour. Good. He gives Varrik a narrow look. “What is the purpose of this.”

The Twi’lek grins, chuckling. From the way his lekku respond, Maul wagers he is amused rather than offended. “We think you could be an ally,” he admits. “Not everybody agrees.”

Maul hums. “I see.” It is not surprising. He thought Mandalorians would have tried to kill him much earlier. He is ready in case they ever try.

“She likes you,” Varrik offers. “I do too. The commandos here agree. You’re a bit weird, I won’t lie, but weird’s good. The First Order on the other hand…”

He does not finish his sentence. Suddenly, Maul understands—Ranah was expected to meet with them yesterday but refuses to work with the defector. This is why the captain wanted to spar with him surrounded by the Mandalorians; they may be allies in this fight but it does not mean everyone is on the same side. Rex is, in a sense, what binds them together.

What is Maul then? An asset to gain? A weapon to flaunt and taunt the other side with?

“I see,” he repeats, his tone betraying nothing. He decides to play along. “I believe he defected to the Resistance.”

Varrik hums, doubt evident on his face. “The First Order conditioned every kid they stole as soon as they picked them up. That one doesn’t even remember his name.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “What says the conditioning won’t come back? No. We don’t trust him. We’ll follow Rex but not him.” He juts a lek at him. “What about you?”

Maul watches the captain and clenches his jaw. “I follow no one,” he says, voice unwavering. At his words, uttered out loud for the first time, a spike of fear rises within him—he extinguishes it with vicious delight. Maul has no Master now. “I serve no one.”

Varrik tuts. “We all serve someone,” he tells him. “Whether it’s yourself or someone else. If you think you don’t then you’re just unaware of it.” 

“Varrik,” Ranah calls. The Twi’lek nods and joins her without waiting, clutching at his helmet. She says something in Mando’a then points at Maul.

“Absolutely not,” Rex says in a growl. “He is not yours to command.”

Ranah cackles. “Oh? He yours?”

“No,” he snaps, the visor turning towards him. “He’s not. He’s not Finn’s, not yours and not mine. End of the discussion.”

“If you talk about me,” Maul sneers at them. “Either do it in a language I understand or make sure I am fluent enough in yours to argue.”

He storms out. He can hear them calling after him—he ignores them all, even Cas. He takes the lift, goes to the dock where his ship is and locks himself inside. He takes advantage of the rage filling him and starts meditating.

  
  
  
  


Someone is banging at the airlock. Maul opens his eyes. It has been hours but he is still not ready to see anyone else. The knocks are insistent—he cannot sense anyone on the other side. He sighs. If he does not open, she will not stop.

“Leave me alone,” he sneers, opening the airlock, the ramp extending. Cas walks, pushing him on the side to come in.

“You spent a long time on your own. Enough of your solitude; I have things to say,” she snaps. She looks around. He has to force himself to stay still. Somehow, with her watching everything here, he feels… Awkward. He is plagued by the thought that he had not cleaned the ship in a while. Possibly since he acquired it. “This is how you lived? It's decadent and outrageous.”

“Why are you here,” he sneers. She picks up his clothes, observes them from every angle then throws them over her shoulder. “Stop this.”

“Why? It doesn't look like you care about them. They wouldn't be discarded on the floor if you did.”

Maul keeps arguing for the sake of arguing. It occurs to him that he missed this. He missed their arguments a lot more than he would like to admit.

After ten minutes, Cas raises her hand to silence him. “Enough. There are more pressing matters at hand than your lack of cleanliness.” She turns on the holo with the controls without asking. “In two days, we’ll be launching an assault on Kadavo. The organics are arguing to wager who is the strongest. I don’t care who wins—we’ll go with my plan.”

“Your plan,” he repeats.

“The captain helped,” she says dismissively. “My plan is superior, therefore we are going to enforce it.”

“ _We_?”

“Of course, _we_.” She huffs. “Who else? Finn who is silently waiting for the captain to take point or a couple of warmongerers trying to demonstrate their worthiness to the Mandalore? No. We’re taking charge of this operation. I’m tired of discussing important matters with people who don’t listen.”

“You always complain I do not listen to you,” he reminds her. Her head rises to stare at him.

“You listen when it matters.”

They set themselves in a private room with a holotable. Cas explains everything thoroughly which should not surprise him as much as it does.

Maul did not realise his actions would have so many consequences. The truth is he did not truly care about them. He thinks this may be something that differentiates him from his original self—Maul cares little about politics. He wonders if it makes him better or weaker. As of now, he is still unsure.

“You want to send me away from the front line,” he comments after twenty minutes of Cas speaking on her own. “Why?”

“None of these fighters are equipped to fight beside you.” She points at his staff. “You will be a distraction more than anything else. It’s better if you stick with the captain.” She knocks her knuckles on the holotable. “Are you going to concede my point or argue for the sake of arguing, knowing fully well that I _know_ you are perfectly fine staying with him?”

Maul glares but remains silent, simply because he knows she would have preferred otherwise.

“Good,” she still says. He snorts. “Now eat what Dameron gave you; I need you focused and not dragged down by your biological imperatives.”

“You mean you do not want me to be hungry,” he mutters with a sniff.

“Just eat so we can focus on what’s important.”

He listens to her in silence. What Poe Dameron gave him is… very, very good. He likes it. He wonders if letsap is as good as its namesake pretends; the chances are it is, considering what he is eating.

Maul frowns. Since when did taste become important? It mattered not _before._ Why does it now?

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, disrupting his track of thought. He lets go of the plate and hums.

“I am not sure,” he admits. “I… care about the taste and flavour of food.”

“So?”

“I did not before,” he tells her with a glare. Cas turns the hologram off, giving him her undivided attention. Maul stops himself from shifting, not wanting to show her his discomfort. 

“You’re organic. You require a dietary nutrient intake in order to survive,” she says. Maul rolls his eyes. “You can simply eat to survive. You can also eat to live.”

“It is the same thing.”

“Is it?” she retorts immediately. “Stimulating your sense of taste is important. It’s not necessary for you to survive but it _is_ if you wish to live happily.”

“I did not care about taste before.”

“Indeed,” she replies. Her head tilts. “Were you happy? Were you living or merely surviving?”

Maul stares at her for a long time. Fear flares inside him, the Force latching onto it and shifting around him; rather than the indifference he became used to this past year, suddenly it feels interested—as if Maul grew into a beacon of light for it to feed upon.

He shuts himself off without thinking, taking a physical step back. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in and holds it for as long as it will take him to regain control.

“Were you happy?” Cas asks again. Maul opens his eyes to look at her.

“I—” he begins to say but falls silent. He stares at Poe Dameron’s cooked food and swallows.

Maul does not know how to answer her question.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update on Wednesday to give me more time to edit the following chapters!


	18. Kessel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the tidbits of Mando’a sprinkled all around: I more or less created a dialectal variation of Mando’a dubbed ‘Brotherspeak’ for another fic that led me to dabble with Concordian, which led me to make vowel and consonant charts, which led me to realize Rex’s name has non-existant phonemes in Mando’a and CD (hence ‘Rayk’),,,,,,Then I was in too deep and “Clan Saxon” was right there. Since Ranah’s L1 is CD rather than Mando’a, Saxon sounds closer to “Saʻhson” for her ([ˈsɑɦsn̩]).  
> Something that’s completely irrelevant but I’d like to share anyway: taking into account the phonotactic constraints in Concordian, Jango’s first name is actually closer to _Yahngo Vhett_ ([ˈʝɑ̃ŋgɔ̞ɸɛtʰ]) than “Django”. Semi blursed 🙃
> 
> (also, fair warning: smut!)

  
  
  
  


Cas decides to summon the others on the secondary bridge, giving them a three-hour window. She informs the Mandalorians that Maul is with her. Unsurprisingly, they agree to a meeting only if the defector is not there. “His presence is non-negotiable,” she tells them firmly over com. 

“Alright,” Varrik replies. “We’ll be here only if we can discuss with Maul before.”

He shares a look with her. 

“He’s coming,” she says without asking him. He glares at her. She mutes their end of the comm and asks, “Do you have anything better to do? I don’t think so.”

He rolls his eyes but says nothing. He goes to the Mandalorian level without another word. 

As soon as he steps out of the lift, he can see a dozen helmets turning their visors towards him.

“Ranah,” one of them calls. She comes into sight and gestures at Maul to follow her. They are back in the sparring room; they put a holotable at its centre. Many Mandalorians are already gathered around what he recognises as a map of Kadavo; they do not all wear their helmets. Varrik is not here. He recognises some of the signets–the aiwha, the jai’galaar–but not all of them—he thinks he can see a rancor on the armours that share the same markings and a single stark orange stripe on their helmets. He has yet to see a mudhorn. He has been curious about it ever since the captain mentioned it on their ship. 

As soon as they settle around the holotable, they all acknowledge him. How curious. He does not sense any aggression towards him. Perhaps the Mandalorians present here are not the ones hunting for his head. 

“We will translate,” one of the warriors says. The others nod.

They ask Ranah questions in Mando’a. She points at the charts, demonstrates different tactics and answers all of their inquiries. She definitely is the one in charge. 

“She’s probably the smartest person in the room, if not in the entire ship,” the towering Mandalorian besides him says, mistaking his interest for surprise. “She just refuses to learn how to speak Basic properly.”

Ranah interjects, saying something he does not understand. Then her visor swipes around the table and she says something everyone else repeats. These are the same words the Mandalore declared when she was with the Senator.

“This is the Way,” he mutters, remembering what the Nautolan said. They all nod solemnly. One of them takes off their helmet. They are Pantoran—he is surprised because they bear the yellow markings common to their species. He thought they would not, seeing as they are wearing beskar.

“I am old enough to remember the Purge,” they tell him. Cas did not dwell too much on it but, from what Maul can guess, the Mandalorians went through near extinction when his old Master decided to wipe them out. “The Empire stripped us of our culture, assassinated our children, stole our beskar but we survived. We prevailed—like you. No one will take our creed away from us again. Dar nu draar.”

“Dar nu draar,” they all repeat in a single voice. United under their faith, it seems.

“Kadavo,” Ranah says, pointing at the charts. “Fight soon. Speak after.”

Maul spends the rest of the day listening to them, trying to pick up on the bits of language he can infer. He notices after an hour that most of the Mandalorians do not translate a word if someone else already did but always do if the sentence is too complex for him to figure out on his own. From what he can gather, the younger ones do not speak Basic or, at least, refuse to do so, while the older ones seem more than comfortable with it. Some take off their helmets while others do not. These must be the main differences between the two groups he can distinguish. He wonders how some of them feel knowing the Mandalore is more… liberal with her faith than they are.

It feels… odd to be amongst people again. Maul has not been around so many people for months now—since he decided not to join Ithano’s crew. He does not think the Zygerrians and Guavian members count. He… did not really _talk_ to them. 

The good news is that their strategies will be easily incorporated to Cas’ plan. The issue is that they do not seem to care if their assault is uncoordinated with the Resistants. 

The one who addressed him earlier raises their hand once Ranah falls silent.

“Three teams,” they explain. “Ranah’s, mine and Rayk’s. Where will you be?”

“Rayk’s,” he states. “We will not be on the frontline with you. Find another team leader.”

The silence becomes more tense.

“Are you challeng—”

“Orja,” Ranah says, cutting them off. It must be their name. Her visor turns to Maul. She says something in rapid Mando’a. “Is this the plan your droid wants us to take part of?” someone translates.

“Yes,” he says. After a couple of seconds, she slowly hums. None of the Mandalorians question him.

“Karda,” she says and the towering Nautolan besides him nods sharply. “Ni, Orja bal Karda.” She looks around the table. They all nod. “Good.” She points at Maul and says, “We go see gar beskar’ad, Rayk’riduur.”

“Riduur,” he repeats. He understands ‘your droid’ and ‘Rex’ but not this one.

“Partner,” Orja tells him. They thump their stomach. “Ni Karda’riduur.” They point at Karda then at themself. “Karda ner riduur.” Karda is their partner. They point at Maul. “Gar Rayk’riduur.”

He hums. If he is Rex’s partner then—“Varrik Ranah’riduur?” There is a wave of protests and grumbles; most of them shake their helmets and sign something that he infers means _no._

“Varrik neyar kih’tat,” Ranah says. “Small brother. Clan Dahn.”

Ah. Riduur is for associates, then. He nods. Around him, the Mandalorians feel… content. Maul does not know whether this is some convoluted scheme made to have him lower his guard in front of them or not. As it is, he remains vigilant.

He does not need to take a look at a chrono to know it is almost time for them to meet the others. Ranah seems to agree; she makes a gesture at him to lead the way. The others nod silently then start another conversation around the holotable. This time no one translates and he notices that the pace of their words has drastically quickened.

Maul puts on his hood and goes to the lift. Ranah walks besides him silently. He cannot sense much coming from her. She does not seem to be actively trying to keep him out; he wagers this is more the result of her own guarded mindset more than anything. 

When they leave the Mandalorian level, Ranah tells him, “Mand’alor not trust you.”

He huffs. “I am aware,” he says dryly. “I spent the last year fighting against some of your peers. I wagered she was the one who sent them after me.”

She makes the gesture he understands as _no_ then draws an inverted triangle above her visor. “Aliit Saʻhson,” she says. “Gar verde. Soldiers.”

“My soldiers,” he repeats. He is not sure he understands what she means. “What is Aliit Saʻhson?”

“Clan. Gar verde.” She points behind her shoulder. “You Mand’alor have soldiers. Aliite Saʻhson bal Kast.”

“The ones who followed me as Mandalore,” he infers. “Those are clans.”

“Aliite.” She nods. “Clans.”

“Do they follow the current Mandalore?” She shrugs with her hands. He nods but says nothing else. 

Varrik is already here when they step onto the bridge—so are Rex and the defector. The latter watches Ranah silently walking toward them, planting herself right next to her brother whose lekku twitch closer to her. He murmurs something in rapid Mando’a.

Maul goes to the front viewport and stares at hyperspace. The sight never fails to calm him. 

“I don’t know what you and Cas planned,” the captain says once he stands next to him. “But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“She does,” he tells him. He can only sense projected calm and focus from Rex. Behind them, the defector feels oddly quiet. Maul tries not to react when he feels gloved fingers softly brush against his forearm but his eyes still slide to the captain’s visor. His throat closes up. He averts his gaze.

As soon as Cas enters, she begins to explain her plan of attack thoroughly. They go back to the holotable. Poe Dameron arrives half running a couple of minutes late. He puts himself between Maul and the defector and grins.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch up,” he says.

“Do not interrupt me, Dameron,” Cas snaps. He raises his arms but stays silent.

After ten minutes, the defector cuts her off.

“You want to send Rex and Maul after the Pykes?” He shakes his head. “The Senate will never condone that; attacking them would be declaring war on an entire sovereign system.”

“He’s right, Cas,” Poe Dameron says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Plus we’re going to need them on Kadavo.”

“No, we don’t,” she states. “We have enough hands as it is. Maul will be a liability. None of you know how to fight with a Force user, let alone one with Sith training.” The bridge falls silent. “There is little doubt the Pykes will try to take control of the trade or at least create a new underground market as soon as we’re done in Kadavo. They want power; they’re too proud to resort to extortion like the Guavians and they still think they can go back to their glory days. If we strike them now, the problem won’t even rise on its own.”

Varrik and Ranah turn their helmets to Maul silently. When he glances around, he notices Poe Dameron and the defector are watching him as well. He scowls. If they think he would not have gone after them once the others were taken care of then they are sorely mistaken.

“When you say you want to send us after the Pykes,” the captain begins. “You want us to kill them?”

“No,” Cas says. He can feel how tense everyone is at once. “I want you to take control of their Syndicate.”

Rex laughs. “You’re joking,” he says, taking a step back. “You want to bring back the Shadow Collective.”

“No,” Poe Dameron snaps. His jaw clenches. “We can’t do that. It’s—” His eyes furtively slide to Maul and he scowls. “No.”

Ranah raises her fist, getting everyone's attention then mutters something in Mando’a. “Who will you put in charge?” Varrik translates. The defector and Poe Dameron frown when they realize she will not speak Basic.

Cas gestures at Maul silently; he can feel everyone’s ire rise around him. He grins.

“Captain Rex,” he says and tries not to react at the intense feeling of shock coming from the man.

The defector stares at them with consideration in his eyes. He is quiet in the Force and Maul can feel the unconscious, subtle way he tries to parse through them. Interesting. He may not realize it but he could be formidable at persuasion, if only with a bit of training.

The thought makes him tense; he is unbalanced all of a sudden. The captain seems to pick up on it—Maul grits his teeth and ignores him. He almost does not listen when the defector speaks.

“What then?” he asks.

“Then the captain dismantles it from the inside,” Cas says. “We cannot expect all the crime rings to disappear from the galaxy but sabotaging the big ones will give the Republic a small but nonetheless helpful reprieve.”

Poe Dameron sighs but says nothing. Ranah remains silent; Maul can sense Varrik is waiting for her to speak. He cannot tell if either of them is against the proposition.

They do not necessarily need their approval–the only one they truly do is the captain's–but it would be much easier if they do not have to fight against them as well.

“We will take the night to consider,” Varrik translates after his sister talks. “We will stick to our end of the bargain. Three squadrons on the planet to take the remaining strongholds. _Without_ the stormtrooper.”

Poe Dameron scowls but the defector says, “Deal.” His eyes slide to Cas. “Tomorrow morning, alright?”

The Mandalorians leave first, without a word, only nodding at him and the captain. Maul shares a look with Cas. It went better than expected. Now remains to convince Rex. 

He has been silent ever since.

He does not need to say anything for Maul to understand that he should wait on the bridge for the others to leave. Poe Dameron clears his throat.

“Right,” he says. “We’ll leave you to it?” 

Even Cas quickly takes the lift. Maul stops himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Let’s go,” the captain says. He heads to the lift, leaving the door open for Maul to follow him. He does silently, even if he is annoyed by his demanding tone.

After a couple of minutes, it becomes obvious where he is leading him. When they enter Rex’s room, Maul tenses minutely. No words are exchanged.

The door closes behind him. The captain’s back is facing him. He does not say anything.

The more time stretches, the more Maul becomes restless. He starts pacing. The captain remains still. Why is he not talking? Is he disapproving? Is he thinking? Maul clenches his fists. Why is he not talking?

“Whatever you have to say, say it,” he sneers. The captain turns around slowly. He remains silent. Maul stops walking. After an entire minute spent staring at an expressionless helmet, he bares his teeth in anger.

The captain does not react.

Maul turns back and opens the door. “No,” he hears.

He grits his teeth, eyes closing. “No,” he repeats, seething. “No?”

“No,” the captain says. “You don’t get to make decisions like that then become impatient when I need time to process them.”

His eyes narrow; he can feel his anger rising. He turns back and sneers, “You do not have a say ove—”

“I don’t have a say over your decision? _You_ are going to decide what _I_ am going to do?” Rex growls. He takes a step forward—Maul’s eyes widen. He can sense a burst of blind rage, gone as soon as it appeared. It is not coming from himself. The captain’s body radiates with aggressiveness. He has never seen him so fiercely enraged. “I am not some pawn for you to play with.”

The words feel like a blow to his chest. He stills, stopping his body from visibly reacting. The captain walks until they are close enough he can see himself reflected on the visor.

“I’m not doing that,” Rex says. He sighs, taking his helmet off, and his eyes roam over Maul’s face. “I can’t do that.” 

“Why,” he asks, scowling. “Do you think we cannot—”

His words are cut off with a snort. “I don’t doubt that,” Rex says wryly. “But I’m not doing that.” 

Maul blinks. It takes him a moment but—“You have an idea,” he says, certain. He gives him a narrow look. “Very well. What are we doing then?”

The captain stares at him silently. For a moment, Maul wonders if he understood what he just said. He opens his mouth to repeat himself but goes silent when Rex closes the distance between them and pushes him against the door, his armor pressed against his body.

The moment he can feel the captain’s lips against his jawline, Maul’s eyes close on their own and he takes in a sharp breath.

“We’re going after Kanjiklub,” Rex whispers, the words grazing his skin and eliciting a shiver out of him. “We’re taking control of their territory.”

Maul swallows heavily. “Why not the Pykes,” he rasps. He can feel his hearts beating loudly in his ears; he is not sure if he truly wants the answer or if he simply wants Rex to keep talking.

When he feels gloved fingers sneaking their way in, subtly pushing his cloak away to settle on his obi, hands softly pressing against it, he has to suppress a groan. His skin feels tight, and the friction of his clothes against his body feels both overwhelming and like it is not enough.

“Why not the Pykes,” he repeats, trying to retake control of the situation. Rex chuckles, his armor vibrating with it, and he cocks his head to the side, lips tracing Maul’s jugular. When he blows air against his skin, it is impossible to stop the shiver racking through him. “Captain.”

“The Republic just regained control of the Triellus Trade Route. Kanjiklub controls two sectors–Calaron and Beriz–plus one half of Pabol Sleheyron,” he mutters. “Can you guess who controls the second half?” Rex licks a stripe on his neck, stripping him of all coherent thoughts. Maul can feel his throat vibrating. “What was that?”

He does not understand the question. He cranes his neck for the captain and releases a shaky breath when he feels teeth grazing his skin.

“Who controls the second half?” Rex asks, hands curling on his hips, pushing Maul until he is fully trapped between him and the door. There is this word again—the one he does not understand but that seems to be recurring, then the same question. “Who controls the second half?”

Maul breathes heavily, blinking. The second half. The second half of what? “I—” he says, even though he has no idea what the answer is. The second half. The captain wants to know who controls—

“Kanjiklub controls one half of Pabol Sleheyron,” he tells him. Maul nods quickly and is rewarded with a nip. “And two sectors: Calaron and Beriz. If you look at a star chart, you’ll see that Kessel is right next to them. So who controls the other half of the route? What’s right next to that sector?”

He knows the answer and shivers in anticipation. “Hutt Space,” he replies, then gasps when Rex nibbles his neck.

“That’s right,” he whispers and _oh._ Maul has to choke back a moan. The captain kisses his jaw softly, squeezing his hips, and says, “You’re doing well.”

Maul has truthfully no idea what he is doing but the words ignite something inside him—a strong compulsion to comply, to undertake whatever Rex has in mind for him. Suddenly he is overwhelmed by fear. He whines before he can stop himself.

“That’s it,” Rex whispers, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck. “Let me hear you.” 

Clever fingers run over his obi and find the right way to untie it, taking their time. Air becomes difficult to find. “Captain,” he rasps, gasping when he hears him groan in his ear, horns rattling against the door when his head thunks against it. “Captain.”

A word uttered on his cheek—this word again, what does it mean—hands pulling at his obi to loose it up, and Rex presses himself up against him, pinning him to the door, his armor full of hard angles, and he hears his name, _Maul_ , a soft whisper like a forbidden promise. He swallows, unable to parse through the swirl of emotions invading his mind, the need to pull the captain closer battling against the instinct to push him away. 

“Talk now or later?” Rex asks and Maul feels a spike of alarm surging through him. He has no idea what they are supposed to talk about. “We have time,” the captain mutters, nuzzling the side of his neck. He steps back; Maul acts without thinking—his hand latch onto his skirt and grip it tightly, refusing to put more distance between them. Rex raises an eyebrow and smiles. “We can talk now or we can put it aside for later.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Your choice.”

Maul wants to say later. It can wait. They can talk later. He stares at his own fingers, sees them brushing the captain’s skirt, feels the leatheris against his fingertips. He does not need to pull him closer; Rex comes on his own. His eyes rove over his face; there is a faint frown between his eyebrows. Maul’s heartbeats accelerate. He can sense fear slowly seeping through.

“I need to take a shower,” the captain says softly, averting his gaze. “This morning, we—” He stops abruptly, eyes sliding straight back to him when he tenses. “We don’t. We—”

Rex falls silent, swallowing, his throat bobbing up and down. Maul wants to feel it against his tongue.

“I have an idea,” the captain says. “I think—we should try.” He offers him a smile. It does not reach his eyes. “If you decide you don’t want to anymore, when I come back, we can just talk—go over the—”

“Go shower, captain,” he says with a roll of his eyes. Rex clamps his mouth shut, ducking his chin. He can see that this time the smile is genuine.

  
  
  
  


Maul sits up from his spot on the bed when the captain comes out of the refresher. He is only wearing the bottom half of his blacks. He glances quickly at Maul and his stance immediately changes. He cocks his head to the side and gives him a small, confident smile.

He is beautiful. Maul’s hand clutches the blanket. He is breathing more rapidly; his hearts beat faster. He feels the way his abdominal muscles clench on their own, how his senses all seem to focus on Rex and Rex only. He thinks he has never wanted anything else as strongly as he wants him now.

The captain walks to him with all the confidence in the galaxy, fluid movements that take Maul’s breath away. He puts one knee on the mattress, brushing his hip, then straddles his waist, his arms settling around his shoulders, his fingers gently cradling his head, thumbs pressing where his horns meet flesh. Maul closes his eyes at the touch and shivers.

“Look at me,” the captain whispers and Maul does immediately, tilting his chin up, staring at his face silently. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat—to no avail. “I need you to talk to me,” Rex says—his body reacts immediately, a pang of want hitting him at the words. “I need you to tell me what you want.” 

Maul is pushed down on the mattress; he does not resist. Clever fingers take his hands, guide them where they want them—on Rex’s thighs, slowly sliding higher, curling around his hips, settling on his rear. It takes him a shamefully long time to understand the silent request.

“You ever done this?” Rex asks, nipping at his jaw. Maul closes his eyes and sighs.

“No,” he says, craning his neck to give him more space. He shivers; he likes it when Rex’s teeth graze him.

“We need lube and time. It's been a while,” the captain explains against his skin. Maul can feel his smile. “We're lucky because we got both. You're gonna like it.”

  
  
  


He follows Rex's instructions to the letter. 

It reminds him of the cargo ship, of that precise time when they cooked together. He watches the captain's back, the curl of his spine now that he is on his hands and knees, and he twists his fingers, lubricated and buried inside his body. The reaction is immediate—Rex lets out a loud groan, head hanging limp between his shoulders, hips pushing back against his hand. Maul wishes he could see his face.

“Yeah, there—stroke right there again,” the captain gasps and Maul does silently, still surprised by his reactions. Perhaps they should try this the other way around next time. “Add another,” Rex commands. Maul sniffs.

“You are still tight,” he informs him. “You said to be careful.” Slowly, testing out, he spreads his fingers apart inside the captain, once, twice, then curls them, brushing something and he feels a wave of deep satisfaction when he gains a startled moan. Maul twists his wrist, moves the fingers around, brushing it again, and he can feel how hard and wet he is just from his own fingers doing this to the captain. He has not even touched himself yet and he is already gently thrusting in the air whenever Rex offers him a moan or a soft growl.

The captain's head rises and he looks back at him over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

“Maul,” he says with emphasis. At his name, Maul stills his fingers and stiffens. What did he do? “Can you take a look at your cock? Please.”

“My–”

“That thing you're going to shove inside me until I pass out.”

He blinks for a couple of seconds. “Until you _what,_ ” he snaps. He starts taking his fingers out but stops when the captains growls in warning.

“Maul,” he says, voice calm but commanding. “Your cock is big. I'd like to come with it inside me—and for that to happen we're going to need to take this a little bit faster and with more fingers, otherwise I won't be able to wait anymore, so you get another finger in there and start moving. Are we clear?”

Eyes widening, Maul swallows hard, nods mutely then follows the instructions. He did not expect this side of the captain to make him feel like this. His authoritative voice is… very pleasant. 

“Very well,” he hears himself rasping, clearing his throat and his cock twitches when the captain chuckles. 

“Good.”

  
  
  


When Maul starts entering him, his vision whitens out and he has to grit his teeth and take deep breaths to keep his mind clear. The captain said slowly. Slowly. 

“Fierfek, you're hot,” Rex gasps. Maul hums, words eluding him once his first ridge is inside. “Oh, that's–that's new.” The captain lets out a shaky breath and his spine shivers with it. 

“Shall I stop?” he asks, stilling. He does not want to at all but the prospect of hurting the captain makes his skin crawl and his length almost softens at the idea.

When he was on his own, it took Maul weeks to come to terms with the fact that he would rather get hurt himself if it meant for the captain to remain unharmed. He was distraught and angry when he understood this. Time has passed since. Now, the knowledge is a quiet certainty he accepted months ago.

Maul curls his hand around the captain’s hip, his thumb stroking the skin softly. He feels a lump in his throat, anxiety and fear flaring inside him and he does not understand.

“Don't you dare stop,” Rex snaps, bringing him back to the present, and he pushes himself further on Maul’s length, letting out a strangled moan. “Fierfek,” he chokes out, head dropping between his shoulders, panting heavily. “You're big.”

“Is it an issue?” he asks, voice rough. The captain is clenching around him and he has trouble forming coherent thoughts.

Rex laughs and Maul can _feel_ it. “Ah, no, no—it just means we're taking this slow.” He clenches around him again and Maul growls, hands clutching at the captain’s waist. “Think you can manage?” He clenches again. 

“You are doing this on purpose,” Maul accuses, eyes squeezed shut. Another clench gets a strangled groan out of him and it takes all of his strength not to thrust. The captain said he wanted to come on his cock; he has to calm himself down and retake control. Breathe in, breathe out. He must take it slow. He nods to himself once he feels he is in control again. Rex clenches around him right then and moans loudly. Maul is not in control.

“You like it?” the captain rasps, his smile obvious in the tone of his voice. 

“Yes,” Maul hisses. He is panting heavily, looking for air to get inside his burning lungs. He opens his eyes. When did he close them? One of his hands slides across the captain's back and he moans in pleasure, admiring his hand splayed on the skin possessively. What a delightful sight.

“Hmm. You feel good,” Rex tells him and he is hit with a wave of pleasure at the words, shivers running across his shoulders. Maul bites his lip and buries himself further inside; the captain moans when the second ridge goes in. Maul takes a glance down and—

He has to stare back at the ceiling immediately. He bites his lip sharply, trying to stay in control. It is worse if he looks. He has to stay calm. The captain said to take it slow.

It takes more time, one or two shallow thrusts but, finally, _finally,_ he is fully in. Maul’s pants are loud and verge on whines; he can hear them but cannot stop them. “Captain,” he calls, not knowing why or what for. Do his hearts always beat this loudly? “Captain,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Rex whispers, understanding what Maul means even if he himself does not. “Come on. Take it slow.”

Maul's eyes widen and he glares at the ceiling. This is easier said than done. He pulls his hips slightly, slowly, and the captain moans, hands clutching the sheets once the last ridge comes out. Maul stills. He hurt him. He went too fast and he hurt him.

“Why are you stopping, you—” The flurry of words leaving the captain's mouth is a miscellany of languages Maul does not understand. He is almost certain he is being insulted. “Stop being a kriffing tease or I swear I’m going to—”

“A tease,” he repeats. 

Rex falls silent. 

“Okay,” he says after a beat. “Okay. We're. Er. Establishing some rules. If I don't like something, I'm going to say ‘stop’, alright?”

Maul nods. He remembers Rex cannot see him. “Yes,” he says.

“If you don't like something, you say ‘stop’ as well. Are we clear?”

He fidgets, averting his gaze. If it does not involve hurting the captain, he has trouble imagining why he would need to say ‘stop’. He looks at the back of Rex’s head and his heartbeats accelerate.

“If I say ‘stop’,” Maul hears himself say, “Does it mean we stop everything.”

“Yes,” is the reply. 

He hesitates. Perhaps he should stay silent, then. He nods mutely and the hand he has around the captain's hip twitches involuntarily. His jaw clenches. 

Rex's hand comes to rest on top of his own and he intertwines their fingers together. Maul has to suppress a flinch.

“Talk to me,” the captain whispers. Maul swallows hard, staring at the wall next to them. Whatever they moved out of this room made a dent the size of his thumb. There is a speck of green paint. Nothing is painted green here. “Maul.”

“I do not like this position,” he blurts out then clamps his mouth shut. 

For a long moment, the captain says nothing. Maul starts tensing. He should have stayed silent. Why did he have to say it? Anger unfurls inside him. He should have stayed silent.

“Do you want to stop?” Rex moves slowly, trying to pull him out. “We don't have t—”

“No,” he says abruptly, cutting him off, and he leans down to nuzzle between his shoulders, putting one hand on the mattress to hold himself up. He breathes in sharply and nips at the captain’s nape. Rex shudders; Maul’s teeth release his skin so he can taste it with his tongue. “I do not want to stop,” he admits reluctantly. He should have stayed silent. “Do you…”

“No,” the captain gasps and Maul groans when he feels him clenching around him. He slings his arm around Rex's abdomen and hums in satisfaction. It takes him a couple of seconds to realise he has been grinding instinctively.

“I have an idea,” Rex says breathlessly. “Sit back on your heels and pull me up against you.”

Maul grins against his shoulder. He pulls them up both, careful to stay inside Rex. The captain sits fully on him and Maul instinctively tightens his hold.

“Like this?” Rex asks between pants, gently rocking back and forth, back and forth. “Better?”

“Yes,” he mutters, nodding and breathing in his hair. Underneath the smell of distilled water and soap lies the captain's scent. Maul lets out a small moan. He feels—engulfed, surrounded, and his arms squeeze Rex’s waist. Maul hears him laugh and he shudders when he feels him rolling his hips.

“Okay,” the captain whispers, clenching around him. “Now kriff me.”

Maul feels a surge of desire at the words. He takes Rex's hand and places it on the back of his own head, shivering once again when the captain's fingers curl around his horns. He withdraws slowly, reveling in the way Rex breathes in cut off gasps, then pushes back in again with a slow roll of his hips. “Oh,” Maul chokes out, eyes closing on their own. He does it again instinctively and moans. Oh, this feels better than his hand. This— _oh,_ like this—

“Yeah,” the captain whispers, moving in rhythm with him. Maul whines; he did not— He was not expecting this to—“That's it.”

“Captain,” he calls in a small gasp, overwhelmed, hands shaking. The feel of Rex–surrounding him, his hand curling possessively on his head, his body against his own—He keeps the same pace–the captain said slowly–and feels like he is drowning. 

“Harder,” Rex demands and Maul lets out a choked moan.

“Captain,” he calls again, lungs burning. He feels submerged but he does not want it to stop. He thrusts inside him again and shivers. Oh, it feels _good—_

“Harder,” the captain commands. “You won't hurt me. Come on.”

Maul tries almost pulling out and thrusting a bit faster; the captain arches his back and, with the new angle, Maul can see his face. He moans at the sight. He rolls his hips and starts thrusting deeper—the friction is exquisite. The captain was right; he likes this. He likes it a lot. He lets his eyes roam over the captain’s form, his hand following his path. The hairs on his chest are fascinating—there are not many but they feel coarse against his fingertips compared to the captain’s hair. Maul shifts a bit to be able to see him more clearly and Rex’s eyes open wide and he lets out a startled grunt when he slides in deeper.

“Maul,” he says frantically. “Right here, keep—” Maul rolls his hips, thrusting languidly and he grins in victory when the captain lets out a stream of what he guesses is Mando’a. He puts a hand on his waist to lock their position and slides deeper with each thrust. His pace intensifies without him meaning to; he can hear himself grunting with each push of his hips. Rex starts trying to move on his own, to have Maul’s ridges brush right against the bundle he can feel. “Fierfek, they feel fantastic,” the captain whispers fervently, hips grinding frantically. “Just— _ah_ —right here.”

Maul feels Rex’s hand twitch around his horns, fingers pressing on the base of one of them, stroking it in rhythm with Maul’s thrusts, eliciting a brutal one out of him.

“Bite me,” Rex demands with a broken moan. Maul freezes immediately. “Don’t stop, don’t sto—why did you stop? Come o—”

“Why?” he asks against his ear. What did he do? Is he missing something?

The captain blinks then stills. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me to bite you?” He flinches. “Am I hurting you.”

“What. Wha—” He shakes his head, still panting. “You’re not hurting me. Fierfek, you—” He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “You’re not hurting me, alright? Just. Can you focus on what I'm feeling?”

Maul frowns, confused. “You shielded yourself this morning,” he reminds him.

Rex takes his hands in his own and places them on his hips. “If you hurt me, you’ll feel it,” he whispers. He starts moving slowly, up and down, back and forth, soft rolls of his hips undermining Maul’s concentration. “Feel with me.”

And he does. He lets his mind become aware of his surroundings and focuses on the captain. He gasps at the same time Rex does, thrusts up when Rex drops back down, curls their hands together around Rex’s length and starts moving vigorously up and down, wrist twisting along with Rex’s. He nuzzles the side of his neck and moans.

The captain is whispering words he does not understand, intermingled with pants and moans, eyes clenched shut, body trembling.

“Bite me,” he says and Maul is suddenly flooded with feelings that are not his own—pleasure, joy, want, desire, worry, euphoria, want, satisfaction, impatience, lust, _want_ and so many others that he does not understand. 

“Captain,” he chokes out, lacking air. His free arm curls possessively around him; his thrusts have become harsher and, distressed by how _good_ it feels, he whines; he is hit by a wave of blinding rapture in response to the sound. “Rex,” Maul whispers in a shivery gasp against his skin. “I—”

The captain encourages him with hushed words then sets a brutal pace, slamming himself down on his cock again and again, groaning in delight, chasing after their pumping hands. Maul’s eyes roll back and he moans loudly without restraint, losing awareness of his own limbs, solely focused on the hard slaps of the captain's skin against his own. He bares his teeth, closing his eyes and throws his head back, trying to breathe air into his lungs. “Ah,” he whines, his whole body shivering, and he hiccups, feeling like all of his muscles spasm and he cannot do anything to stop them. Rex is unrelenting; he keeps kriffing himself hard, moaning shamelessly, and Maul can do nothing but hold onto him.

“Bite me,” he demands and this time Maul does not hesitate; he growls and tilts his head, licks at the crook of the captain’s neck, takes his skin between his teeth and starts sucking.

Rex screams. Maul can _feel_ the moment he lets go; the captain groans, his cock spilling, and clenches _hard_ around him, pulling a surprised shout out of Maul.

He comes inside him and blacks out.

  
  
  


When he comes back to himself, his muscles are shaking. He blinks and realises he is lying down. He stretches languidly, feeling half asleep; Maul never felt comfortable like this before. He remembers then what happened, humming in delight and shivering with satisfaction. That was—

He looks around him and makes a confused noise, searching. His hearts accelerate with his breathing; where is—

“Hey,” the captain whispers against his shoulder, kissing the skin. Maul relaxes immediately, head dropping back down. His eyes roam over him, words eluding him. Rex’s hand squeezes his forearm. “You okay?” he asks in a murmur.

No, Maul wants to say but he nods mutely. What is happening to him? Why does he feel so afraid when he looks at him? 

The captain smiles; he can feel his lips moving against his skin. He pushes himself up on his elbow and his thumb brushes Maul’s cheek. He leans on Rex's hand, his hearts drumming erratically against his ribs.

“Can I kiss you?” the captain asks in a murmur. Maul nods again, looks at him smiling and leaning over him. 

He _knows_ what to expect, _knows_ Rex is leaning down and will touch his lips with his own—yet the moment he does, Maul gasps, electrified, as if this sole point of contact lights up all of his nerves simultaneously. The captain kisses him, slowly, testing, and it takes him a moment to notice that he has yet to respond. He lets instinct run, mirorring the captain; he closes his eyes, buries his fingers in soft hair and he feels waves of contentment wash over him. He can feel Rex’s smile across his lips.

“Do you like it?” he rumbles and Maul cannot remember how to form words so he kisses him again.

He likes it. He likes it a lot. It scares him to realise how much he does. When Rex pulls back, Maul stares at him, hearts hammering, and he does not understand why but all he can feel is fear.

“You keep uttering a word when you look at me,” Maul blurts out. “I do not understand it.”

The captain stays silent for a while. He stares at him, eyes full of an emotion Maul does not recognise, then whispers the word against his cheek, kissing the skin.

“Kar'ika,” Maul repeats. “It is in Mando'a.”

“Little star,” he tells him. “Scorching, deadly and never to be touched.” He kisses him languidly, shows him how to respond and Maul can feel his chest vibrating, electric sparks flooding his senses and forcing him to close his eyes. “Stars drive us forward,” the captain whispers against his lips. “They make us go where we never thought we could or even would. They're the hearts of the galaxy.”

Rex kisses his neck, mouths his jugular, and Maul tips his head back, giving himself to him. Baring his throat, he clutches the sheets tightly and stares at the wall. He is afraid, but he does not know why.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AWKWARD TIME YAY
> 
> Let’s be real—I had no headcanons concerning maul’s dick so I asked the discord for help a couple of months ago and,,,let me tell you,,,,I did not expect to have an extremely constructive and lively conversation about maul’s dong during lunch but it happened! So he's got ridges now! And he uses ‘length’ because he’s dramatique but not ‘dick’ because it sounds weird when I write it in his pov!


	19. Chandrila

  
  


“The Senate will reside in Chandrila for the time being,” the Admiral states. Judging by the steadiness of their connexion, they are somewhere in the Core. Possibly orbiting around the planet in question. “You must know why I am comming you personally.”

“I have an idea,” Tala replies pleasantly. She smiles for good measure.

“We both know you will be elected First Senator tomorrow. I don’t have time to play games, I’m afraid.”

Tala laughs. These soldiers. Always brusque and lacking finesse. Her tendrils vibrate with amusement.

“The vote is tomorrow, admiral,” she reminds him. “But I welcome your confidence in my election.”

“As I said, Senator Alcorr, I don’t have time to play games,” they say. Their skin flush with irritation. Humans. These poor mammals weren’t gifted with the right mutations, unfortunately for them.

“Very well,” she dismisses. She sits more comfortably in her chair and crosses her legs. “I have no interest in the Sith myself. You already knew that, of course.” At their lack of reply, her tendrils twitch in boredom. “I will send in a committee to remind General Finn of his loyalties, rest assured, but I wager they will find little information. The man is too smart to leave anything to chance.”

“You don’t seem very worried.”

“No. I am not,” she admits. “Out of all the interested parties, admiral, I’m afraid you are far from being the strongest. Your troops are scattered in the Outer Rim, going after First Order warlords and whatnots, while Mandalore grows stronger.”

“The Mandalore does not represent the Republic,” they snap.

“But you do?” Tala retorts. “She is within our ranks, admiral. And she is stronger than you are—stronger than anyone would like to admit, now that the war is over. We’ve all suffered great losses. Except her.” She puts her fingers on the commands, deliberately showing them the conversation is over. “I am afraid I don’t have time to play more games.”

There is great satisfaction in cutting off the comm while they are in the middle of a sentence. Tala smiles.

Her aide comes to stand beside her. It takes time but, eventually, she says, “You implied some sort of alliance with the Mandalore.”

“Yes,” Tala replies, her eyes on her glass of ale.

“You have none, senator.”

“Indeed.” She smiles. “As long as I do not get in her way, the Mand’alor won’t come after me. It’s the Sith she wants.” 

Her aide nods silently. Tala takes a big gulp, puts her glass back on the desk and stands up, staring at the holomap of the base on Ajan Kloss. She will create another committee to send there for the sake of appearances. 

The Sith is smart and as clever as she expected him to be. Tracking his every movement has been no easy task but a welcome challenge—and it certainly gives her a considerable advantage. “Luckily for her and us, we have a common interest and I have information.” She glances at her aide and smiles. “Ask away, Ava.”

The girl’s eyes are on the holomap; there is a serious frown gracing her features. Young and ambitious but unfortunately she lacks subtlety. She will rise but not far high. 

“I understand why you lied to the Admiral,” Ava says, “but I don’t understand why you are so interested in the Sith.”

Tala turns off the holomap—for this, she wants her aide’s full attention. She doesn’t want to repeat herself. “Organa’s son was a tool,” she tells her simply. “Darth Maul is a pure product of the Emperor. No matter how much he tries to deny it, his upbringing remains.” She indulges a little; her tendrils twirl around themselves in a parody of comfort. “My great uncle was a Jedi. I don’t remember much about him, except for his smile and his aloofness.” Two qualities she got from him and which still serve her well. “But I remember Crimson Dawn. I remember what the Syndicate did to my world.” She turns back to stare at the lights outside. 

“Force users mean trouble, my dear. Their powers make them dangerous and attract chaos. Whether they are Sith or Jedi doesn’t matter—the Galaxy will fare better without them.”

“I thought the Jedi were peacekeepers,” Ava retorts before she remembers herself. Tala hums.

“The clone might disagree with you,” she says dryly. “And he wouldn’t be wrong. They were warriors, trained for combat—they had fight in their blood even if they didn’t want to admit it.” She huffs. “Force users only bring destruction. Look what Organa’s son did.” She turns back and smiles. “Did you know he was trained to become a Jedi?”

Ava shakes her head. Tala laughs.

“Jedi, Sith—it’s all the same.” She goes back to the holotable, turns it on and looks through the directory. “I need to make a private comm. Leave, please.”

“I will be outside, senator.”

Tala waves her hand dismissively; she waits for the door to close behind her aide before taking a deep breath. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me, she reminds herself. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

She comms Sabine Wren.

“Yes?”

Dank farrik. Tala smiles widely. “Advisor,” she says politely. Of all the people who could reply, it had to be him.

Wren may be wary of her but she is malleable—with kindness and genuine interest, Tala can charm her, not heavily but enough for the Mand’alor not to dismiss her quickly. Her closest advisor, though. She wouldn’t say it out loud but he is a true pain in the ass. Hard-headed, stubborn and uncompromising where Mandalorians are concerned. Of all the people surrounding Wren, this buckethead is the only one she can’t bribe. 

“What do you want?” he asks. Straight to the point as always.

“An audience with your leader,” she replies smoothly. “I have information that may interest her.”

“That’s not enough,” he says calmly. “The Mand’alor is busy.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Tala says with a warm chuckle. The buckethead stiffens. “It concerns Maul.” She lets silence reign for a moment. “I acquired something. Something that will get his attention.”

“What is it?”

Tala smiles. “I’m afraid this is too sensitive for me to share with anyone but the Mand’alor.”

If she could see his face, she’s certain she’d be met with a scowl. She doesn’t let it affect her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies then cuts off the comm. Her tendrils shiver with annoyance. He is a formidable ally for Wren. It doesn’t help her matters at all but Tala will make do. She sniffs. One thing is certain—his little green child doesn’t come from him. The thing is too cute for that.

It doesn’t take long; Mandalore comms her back in less than an hour. She allows herself a private smile.

“Mand’alor,” she exclaims with a wide grin when she sees Wren’s face. No helmet is a good sign. “Long time no see.”

“I talked to you yesterday,” Wren replies with a dry chuckle.

“A long time, then.”

The Mand’alor snorts. “So tell me—what did you find and what’s it gonna cost me?”

Tala blinks, tendrils shivering with amusement. “Said like that I look like some sort of womp rat looking for a deal.” Wren says nothing. “Oh, how nice of you, Sabine.”

“I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not,” she replies with a grin. Tala smiles back.

“You could always apologize over dinner,” she suggests. Wren laughs.

“I don't date politicians, senator.”

“A shame, truly,” she says with a warm smile. Tala wouldn't be stupid enough to fall in bed with her but there is no denying she is utterly charming for a Human. When there is a pause, she continues, “I suspect you lost his trace in the Delphidian Cluster.” Wren doesn’t confirm but there _is_ a glint of interest in her tiny eyes. These poor mammals are truly weakened by their biology. “I know where he went—and I have an idea why he went there.”

“Where?” 

“Dathomir,” Tala says. Wren raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “And I believe he took something there with him.”


	20. Kessel II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut!
> 
> (trigger warnings in the end notes)

  
  
  
  


“Your mind is not at rest,” Maul murmurs against his skin, fear still flaring at the back of his mind. He nips at his nape. Rex shifts against him.

“I'm sorry,” he replies. “I'm just thinking.”

Maul says nothing but he sneaks an arm around him to pull him slowly to his chest.

“Are you happy?” the captain asks after minutes spent in silence. Maul blinks.

Is he happy?

“I… do not know,” he admits. “Why?”

He never gets an answer. He falls asleep after a while, the captain a solid weight against his chest. 

  
  
  
  
  


Rex is already awake when he wakes up. He is staring at the ceiling, a small frown gracing his face.

“We need to be on Kadavo,” the captain says without preamble. “They’ll need you.”

Maul takes a deep breath and his eyes slide to the ceiling as well. “What about Kanjiklub?” he asks. Rex winces.

“Right after. We can’t really wait much longer,” he comments. He turns to look at him and props himself on his elbow, head resting on his raised fist. “You’re really okay with it?”

Maul shrugs. “I am,” he confirms.

Rex laughs, eyes crinkling. “What about Cas’s plan?” he retorts. “You can’t do both.”

Maul hums. “I will not force you to do what I want,” he says. “And I believe whatever you came up with will be successful.”

“How can you know that?” Rex asks with a frown. Maul observes him silently; he raises his hand, thumb brushing across the captain’s lips, earning a smile.

“I just do,” he whispers and Rex raises one leg to straddle his waist, sitting himself on his thighs. He smiles, a grin that almost makes his eyes disappear, and Maul’s hearts race at the sight. He grazes the captain’s legs with the tips of his fingers, silently asking. When he receives a small nod, his hands go to Rex’s knees then trail up, feeling his skin against his palms, the muscles twitching under his touch. Maul hums in satisfaction. He grips the captain’s hips, fingers curling possessively around them and he raises his knees while he pulls Rex against his cock, grinding shamelessly. His eyes close on their own at the contact and he groans low in his throat.

“No talking?” Rex asks with a gasp, voice wavering when Maul grips his rear. He pats at his thigh and says, “Lube—give me the lube.” 

He looks at the captain in confusion and sees him frown. “Behind the—er,” Rex huffs, gesturing wildly at Maul’s head. “The er— _fierfek stop moving I can’t—_ under the, er, the—”

“The pillow?” he asks. The captain smiles in relief.

“Yes! Yes.”

Maul slides his hand under the pillow, blindly looking for it, until his fingers graze some sort of bottle. He takes it and, as soon as it is in his line of sight, Rex looms over him and snatches it away. Maul’s eyes widen but he says nothing.

“Sithspit, why did I put on pants last night?” The captain seems so angry and disappointed Maul cannot stop himself—he laughs. “It’s not funny.”

He thinks it is. 

Rex stands up and takes his pants off without ceremony. “Shut up,” he mutters, straddling his waist again, planting his palm over Maul’s mouth and nipping at his neck before he can argue.

Maul closes his eyes and shivers. He can feel Rex shift above him but he is too interested by the shiver-inducing feeling his facial hair brings forth whenever it grazes his skin to care. He raises his hands, instinctively going for the back of the captain’s head and the small curve between his shoulder blades; he pulls him closer, biting his lower lip when he can feel him moan on his skin. The captain’s exhales in small, shaky sighs, little groans escaping him and Maul feels himself harden at the sounds, the beginning of a growl resounding deep in his chest. 

It is when Rex sighs _kar’ika_ that he decides he is done waiting; he slings one leg over his waist to pull him clos—

“Wait, wait, not yet,” Rex exhales against his neck quickly and Maul opens his eyes, tilts his head and—

“Oh.” He blinks. The bottle of lubricant is leaning against his own hip. He did not notice. And the captain’s hand is between his own legs. Maul frowns. “You do not want my fingers?” he asks, keeping the disappointment out of his voice. It was foolish to think he would succeed without practice.

“What?” The captain’s hand stills. Maul tries not to feel deprived. “No, that’s not—er, it’s just that we don’t have much time and. Er. I want—er, well.” He winces. “I was hoping—maybe you. You’d be okay if we. I mean we’re running out of time so I thought I could, er, that I could mayb—”

Maul rolls his eyes. “I believe we _are_ wasting time now with you uttering half sentences.”

Rex splutters, eyebrows raising. “Oh that’s—” He laughs, sitting back up. Maul pulls him back on the bed as soon as he tries to get up, curling his arms around the captain's shoulders and nuzzling his neck silently. Rex chuckles. Maul can sense a gleeful spark coming from him so he nips at his skin.

“What did you have in mind,” he rumbles, burying his nose in Rex's shoulder. He inhales deeply then sighs in satisfaction. 

He does not need to see the captain’s smile; he can hear it in his voice when he says, “I think you’re going to like it.”

  
  
  
  


And Maul does. He watches Rex’s thighs tremble, his face tilted back, eyes closed, a slow, shaky exhale leaving his mouth; he sees his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath he takes, the muscles in his abdomen clenching with his descent. Rex’s legs trap his hips and Maul can do nothing but moan when he feels him slowly taking his cock deeper and deeper. 

“Do you like it?” the captain has the audacity to ask once he is fully seated, hips grinding in small rolls that shatter every thought forming in Maul’s mind. Rex straddles him like he would a speeder bike; he looks at him with hunger and lazy satisfaction, smugness plainly written on his face _and he has the audacity to ask if Maul likes it._

“Rex,” he calls, chest heaving, hands clenching on the captain’s thighs, hearts hammering against his ribcage. He needs something—for him to move or speak or act or do _anything._ “Rex.”

The captain smiles, eyes still closed. He covers Maul’s hands with his own, his thumbs tracing small, mindless patterns on his skin.

“Rex,” he calls again, breathless.

“I know,” he soothes in a whisper. Maul’s hands twitch; he is quickly shushed. His eyes widen and he cannot stop the startled moan escaping his throat. It is… difficult not to move; his instincts scream at him to thrust his hips, to lock Rex’s position and make him bounce on his length. He wants to see him react, to have him moan and shout. There is this deep, carefully kept hidden want to have the captain kriff himself on Maul’s cock; he wants to be told to stay still and have Rex use him as he sees fit; he wants Rex to use his hands, his length, his mouth, his entire body for his own pleasure—and more than anything Maul wants to know _he_ is the reason why Rex is sated and satisfied. 

The thought brings forth arousal intermingled with deeply-seated fear. 

“You're doing well,” the captain whispers as a reward, shivering, and his eyes open. Rex tilts his head back up, stares at him softly then starts moving with purpose, slowly rising, letting a small gasp escape his lips when Maul’s first ridge comes out; he sinks back down, repeats the process again, and again, and again. He looks at him for the entire time, gauging his reaction, smiling and nodding in approval.

Maul has no idea when he started moaning. He knows he does now—he can feel his throat vibrate, hear the low, needy sound coming out of his mouth, but Rex is looking at him with hunger and unfiltered want in his eyes and Maul is certain that if he tries to silence himself he will not succeed.

“You’re being good,” the captain says in a shaky whisper, shivering, eyes fluttering shut. “That's it, kar’ika.” Maul’s hands clench on his hips and he thrusts up without thinking, freezing when he sees Rex’s eyes open widely.

Maul stills.

“Again,” the captain demands. He clenches around him and whispers, “I said again.” Maul obeys silently, his body too excited at the prospect of being able to _move_ for him to even consider arguing. Rex moans, eyes closing; his hands settle on Maul’s chest, clawing at his muscles, and he says, “Harder.”

He thinks he has never been graced with a sight as satisfying as Rex bouncing on his cock, hands clutching at his shoulders feverishly to hold himself up; Maul is graced with small, broken gasps escaping the captain’s lips. 

“Maul,” Rex calls in a whisper. “Maul. _Maul—_ ” He utters his name, again and again and again, voice stuttering with each thrust and the wanton need becomes more and more evident. His hips move in sharp, uncontrolled jerks, meeting him at every rise and fall. Maul’s name becomes a broken prayer of unrepentant desire in the captain’s mouth. It turns into a plea and a gift for them to share alone with each other. Rex’s eyes open and slide down to his face; he laughs tiredly, his hand cupping Maul’s chin and his thumb brushes his lower lip. 

He comes like this: with Rex murmuring _kar’ika_ , thighs trapping his hips; with a silent cry, his hands clawing at the sheets; with his eyes closed and his horns almost tearing the pillow under his head; with the captain’s thumb stroking his mouth softly. It is an ascension, a long wave that lasts an eternity and ends too quickly, then a slow descent, a stuttering sigh, and his body, his mind and his senses go quiet until there is only silence.

“Rex,” he calls in a sigh, hissing when the captain rises, Maul’s soft cock dropping lewdly on his own stomach. “Rex.” 

The captain leans down, shushing him and kissing his jaw. When he hears him open the bottle again, Maul blindly takes it from him to pour oil on his own hand, coating his palm and fingers.

“Closer,” he whispers, pulling Rex up against him, humming when he curls his hand around the captain’s length and squeezes. Maul begins at a slow rhythm, grinning when he feels him buck up, hips moving on their own. His free hand settles on the crown of Rex’s head, tilting it to the side so he can sink his teeth in the captain’s neck.

“Maul,” Rex exclaims when he does, followed by a broken moan; he kriffs Maul’s fist without waiting, panting heavily.

He twists his hand and wonders. The captain’s length may be slicked enough. Maul hums, letting go.

“Wh—what? Why are you— _Fierfek,_ ” Rex hisses when Maul’s fingers enter him.

“Perhaps I should stop?” he asks innocently, crooking them so he can brush the bundle of nerves inside him. Rex’s breath comes in stuttering gasps; he clenches around his knuckles and groans when Maul’s other hand squeezes his length. “Captain?”

“Kark you,” Rex tries to say but he moans loudly, head dropping on Maul’s shoulder, kriffing himself on his fingers. Then the captain sits back up, riding his hand as he did his length and Maul grins.

Rex comes on him, his name a broken whisper escaping his lips, and he looks down at him with lust and desire and pure, unfiltered want in his eyes, inducing shivers and a possessive growl out of Maul.

He drops down on top of him—it does not take much to flip them so Rex lies on the bed under him. Maul kisses his neck, squeezing his length one last time, and bites him when he hears him whimper.

There is an instinct, deep within him, that he satisfies by growling with his teeth still gnawing at Rex’s skin—the sensation that the man under him is happy and sated thanks to _him._ Rex came because of _his_ hands, with _his_ name on his lips. Maul laps where he bit then nuzzles his cheek, humming in satisfaction. 

The captain pushes him away softly so he can lie down beside him; he slings an arm around Maul’s chest, and places his face on his shoulder. Maul tilts his head towards him, nuzzling his hair.

“Mmh,” Rex says smartly. He sighs heavily. “You smell good.”

Maul decides that perhaps saying Rose calls him ‘stink man’ is not appropriate at the moment so he simply hums in response. The captain starts snoring softly. Well. With luck, Cas will not come banging at the door this time.

Sleep eludes him. He observes Rex silently, his hand twitching until he decides to touch his hair; his fingers brush it softly, careful not to wake him.

Maul is afraid. He knows it; he acknowledges his fear even if he does not understand it. The only common denominator he can find for this particular strand is Rex. He does not fear Rex and he is not afraid for him either—rather, he is afraid of what Rex implies.

It is perhaps too late to pretend Maul’s life would be the same if the captain disappeared. What concerns him is that he does not know if some of the choices he has made this past year have been influenced by this very thought. There is no denying Maul chose paths he never would before. Whether he chose them for himself or because he was unconsciously aware Rex would approve, he knows not. 

Maul looks at him sleeping in his arms and he wonders. For someone who has yearned for freedom his entire life—

“Captain Rex?” someone calls, knocking at the door sharply. The man in question stirs; Maul nuzzles his hair to rouse him. “General Finn wants to see you.”

“I don’t,” Rex mumbles, too low to be heard. He starts drifting off again.

“For a soldier you do not wake up easily,” Maul comments dryly. He yelps and jerks when the captain pinches his hip.

“Pirates sleep in. I prefer this option,” he responds lazily. Then louder, “I’ll be on the bridge in fifteen minutes.”

He does not move. When Maul tries to, he groans. 

“I need to shower,” he reminds Rex, looking at the mess on his chest. 

“Yeah, I do too,” the captain mumbles. “I'm going first.”

“Maul,” Cas shouts. “Mandalorian level in fifteen minutes.”

“Why,” he shouts back. No reply.

“She already left,” Rex says. Maul sighs heavily. “I need to take a shower.”

“So do I,” he reminds him. He feels him falling back asleep. “Captain,” he calls dryly. “Captain.” No reply. “ _Rex._ ”

“What.”

“You are late. So am I. Get off.”

“I already did,” Rex retorts smugly. Maul rolls his eyes, pushes him off him, and goes to the refresher. He is in the sonic when he senses the sharp feeling of panic flaring from Rex and he opens the door before he can start hammering against it.

“Can't wait,” Rex says, crowding him in the sonic. Maul huffs but does not comment on _why_ he cannot wait.

“Where do you store your blacks?” he asks instead. Rex looks at him and points at the door then slightly to the left.

“Top row on the right. There’s a thermal set, the one on top—should suit you well.” He points to his right. “Hand me the ultrasound cleaner, yeah? I have another one right there. Oh and the depil cream.”

At the last one, Maul hesitates. He… appreciates Rex's facial hair. He takes the ultrasound for himself to clean his teeth, getting out of the sonic, and when Rex gestures at the depilatory, he tilts his head.

“Are you not late?” he asks, feigning concern for time. The captain mumbles something unintelligible with the ultrasound cleaner in his mouth and shrugs, conceding his point.

“Guess I’m wearing my bucket all day,” he mutters eventually. Maul stops himself from reacting, leaving the refresher to find clothes. 

If he takes more time than he should to dress, no one can comment on it. He looks at the captain when he comes into the room, nude and uncaring, putting on blacks and his armour as if the movements are as natural as breathing; he puts each magnetic piece quickly, the motions pure efficiency, and Maul stops doing anything just to watch, his entire focus on him.

Rex turns around, helmet cradled between his hands, his skirt secured, and he snorts. “What?” he asks, brow raised cockily. Maul takes a couple of steps forward, caresses his skirt with the tips of his fingers and nips at his chin, the delicious feeling of Rex’s facial hair tickling his lips. The captain laughs. “I’m— _f_ _ierfek—_ I’m already late—”

“Whose fault is it,” Maul rumbles wryly, nuzzling his jaw. He needs to hide the depilatory somewhere. With luck, Rex may forget about it.

“ _Yours,_ ” the captain splutters. “I'm late because of you.”

Maul takes a step back. He feels a pull; the Cruiser left hyperspace. Must be the pit stop Poe Dameron mentioned.

Rex puts his helmet down, steps forward and pushes Maul against the door, crowding him. “I'm okay with that,” he whispers then nuzzles his neck. Maul closes his eyes and shivers, arousal and desire invading his thoughts when he feels Rex's stubble against the crook of his neck; his hand latches onto the back of the captain's head to keep him there and he hums low in his chest. He feels Rex's smile on his skin and wonders if he should keep the door locked.

But the captain steps back and puts on his helmet hastily. “Later,” he tells him, opening the door and disappearing from view in the blink of an eye. Maul stares at the unmade bed and scowls. 

  
  
  
  
  


Poe Dameron is already on the Mandalorian level when he arrives. Maul gives him a narrow look, to which the Human responds with a small shrug. The captain and Finn join them no longer after; Rex shrugs when Maul glances at him. Ranah gathers them around the holotable, Varrik and Orja flanking her. She speaks with sharp consonants and guttural sounds Maul does not recognise as Mando’a, her hands gesturing wildly, thumping her chest and moving in rhythm with her words. Maul glances quickly at the captain and sees him nod along.

“Is that Mando’a?” Poe Dameron mutters, leaning closer to him. “Do you understand what she’s saying?”

“No,” Maul replies wryly. When he looks at Poe Dameron, the Human is already looking back, a tired grimace that hints of annoyance on his face.

“This is going to be fun,” the man comments through clenched teeth.

Ranah thumps her closed fist on the table, her voice rising, pointing at Maul but her visor stays on Rex. The captain stills. The other Mandalorians do not budge but Varrik is staring at the defector intently, hand casually resting on one of his holsters.

The conversation goes on until Poe Dameron has had enough.

“Alright,” he exclaims. “Either we all try to understand each other or I’m done. What’s the point of all this?”

Rex’s helmet turns to him and he clears his throat. “They’re altering the deal,” he explains.

“No,” the defector says. He looks at Ranah, jaw clenched. “You want to discuss? You do it with us. All of us. I don’t care if you can’t stand my face; we’re on a mission for the Republic—so you either shove your pride and get to work or I’m going to have to deal with someone who understands what we’re doing here.” He raises his hands. “If you don’t want to deal with _me,_ there’s another General _right here._ And he doesn’t understand Mando’a, so common courtesy would be to _at least_ find a translator. Which _you are,_ ” he says pointing at Varrik. “Or we call Threepio.”

“No,” Rex says immediately and Maul senses a strong wave of emotions coming from him that he conceals quickly. “I’ll translate.” Orja scoffs. “Something on your mind, Lieutenant?”

Silence.

“No, Captain,” they say eventually. He nods perfunctorily.

“Commander Dahn refuses to provide support if Maul and I don’t come to Kadavo,” he explains, crossing his hands behind his back. “And they want a Mandalorian to take control of the Pykes.”

“Absolutely not,” Poe Dameron says immediately.

“Swear creed,” Ranah booms, banging her fist on the table, an angry finger pointing at Rex. “Mand’alor gar alor. Rayk’leader.”

“No,” the captain responds calmly.

“You Mando. Aliit Vhett!” she shouts, then speaks again in a language Maul does not understand.

“Jango Fett was excommunicat—”

“Satine Kryze nu Mando.”

“Yes, she was,” he says. “She led Mandalorians and excommunicated Jango Fett. None of the Houses tried to go against the decision. And Jango Fett never recognized us. Mandalore let me and my brothers be slaves to the Republic, then to the Empire.” He takes off his helmet and stares at her with a cold smile. “You can try to rewrite history as much as you want—but I was there. And I remember.”

Ranah falls silent, fists clenched. “Stubborn,” she spits.

“You’re one to talk, Commander,” he retorts monotonously. After a beat, she laughs, her chest shaking with the strength of it.

“Gar riduur,” she begins, pointing at Maul with her helmet. There is a wave of surprise coming from Rex—but when he tries to catch his gaze the captain seems to avoid him. “Strong. He take Kadavo easy.”

“Not on my own,” Maul admits. He turns on the holotable, frowns at the lack of Basic but tries to navigate through. He glances at Varrik. “Show me Kadavo.”

The Twi’lek cocks his head, visibly vexed by his curt tone but he does not comment on it, focusing on the holotable. “Here,” he says with a grand gesture and a tight smile. Maul ignores him.

“Your map is outdated,” he states, pointing at where the flaws reside. “They reinforced here, here and here.”

“How do you know that?” the defector asks. Maul’s eyes slide to him. He is frowning; his arms are crossed over his chest in apparent frustration.

“I was there not so long ago,” Maul says. “I believe they were expecting me.”

Rex hums, redirecting everyone’s attention. “You were doing recon,” he comments. Maul says nothing. “I suppose Cas’ plan has the required updates we lack.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “This is why you should all listen to her.” He sniffs then mutters, “She is going to be insufferable if you do not.”

“She already is,” Poe Dameron says wryly. “I’m going to assume we need to ask her to come here.”

Silence.

“Yes,” Maul replies reluctantly.

“I’m not comming her,” the Human says quickly, raising his hands. “She’s angry at me and I don’t know why—I can’t comm her yet.”

“Beskar’ade di’kut,” Ranah says. Maul grimaces.

“Do not say that in front of her,” he mutters before looking for her handle in the holotable’s directory. Before making the comm, he looks at everyone else. The defector nods—he is the only non-Mandalorian to appear unaffected. 

“Primary bridge,” she says.

“They do not like your plan,” Maul blurts out then closes his eyes. He does not need to glance at Poe Dameron and Rex to know they are glaring at him. So much for subtlety. “We… may need to adapt our strategy.”

“Why?” she asks sharply. “Do _not_ tell me the captain influenced your choice.” Maul does not know how to respond. “You do realize you _will_ have sexual intercourse even if—”

“We can all hear you,” the defector tells her. There is no response. “It’s not about… Uh…. It’s just we can’t agree wi—”

“I will be here in two minutes. If General Dameron speaks, I’ll leave.” She cuts off her end.

The defector clears his throat, glancing at the mentioned man. “Can you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Poe Dameron replies, raising his hands. “I’m not antagonizing her any further, trust me.”

“You’re ‘General Dameron’, now,” Rex mutters, receiving a glare.

“Oh ha–ha, _captain._ ”

Varrik snorts. His lekku twitch when the others scowl. “Oh, I’m not judging,” he says. “We have the same at home. It’s just very cathartic to see others suffer.”

“She yours?” Ranah asks the captain.

“I suppose,” he replies, mouth pinched into a small frown. “She’s not really anybody’s.”

“I like gar beskar’ad,” she states. “She talk her mind. Good.” She taps her helmet. “Beskar’ade ade. No things.” She thumps her chest. “No bolt. Free mind.”

“Yeah, well.” Rex smiles wryly, glancing at Maul. “I know what it’s like not to have rights.”

Maul holds his gaze but stays silent. His hearts accelerate and he stiffens. The defector looks at him sharply.

“What is it?” he asks immediately. Maul’s eyes stay on Rex.

“Nothing,” he replies. No one needs to know. 

When Cas arrives the conversation flows easily. Maul does not listen to anything anyone says. 

As soon as he feels he can, he leaves without acknowledging anyone else. He walks quickly to Rex’s quarters; when the door closes behind him, he gasps. He paces, trying to understand what is happening to him. He is unbalanced. His hands are shaking. He cannot stop them from shaking. Why can he not stop them from shaking? 

After a moment, he notices he is breathing heavily. He stops walking abruptly, puts a hand on his chest and realises his hearts are drumming erratically. His hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? 

“Maul?” Rex says, making him jump away and snarl. The captain raises his hands. “Easy. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“Leave me alone,” he growls. His hands are shaking. He cannot stop them from shaking. “Leave.” 

Slowly, Rex’s hands move higher until they settle on his helmet; he takes it off with careful movements made clear for Maul to understand. The realisation enrages him.

“Leave me alone,” he repeats, pacing, anger fueling him. The captain does not move. “I said lea—” Maul stares at his hands. They are still shaking. Why are they shaking? 

“Kar’ika,” the captain calls. “You need to calm down.”

“No,” he snarls, focusing on his anger. The captain advances. Maul bares his teeth. “Get back,” he warns, taking a step backward then another. “Get back.”

He touches something behind him and startles. 

He does not understand what happens afterward.

“Kar’ika.”

Fear. This is what he feels. Fear. He is afraid.

“Kar’ika.”

Fear attracts the fearful, the strong, the weak, the innocent, the corrupt. Fear. This is what he feels. He is afraid. Fe—

“Do you know your name?”

He blinks. His hands are in front of him. He is on the floor.

“Do you know who you are?” 

What he feels—it is fear. His hands start shaking.

“Kar’ika.” He has trouble breathing. “Look at me.”

The captain is staring at him.

“Do you know your name?” he asks.

He nods sharply. The captain nods back and smiles.

“Do you know you are?” he asks and the answer should be easy but—

“No,” he replies instead of what he ought to, the truth slipping away from him before he can do anything. “No,” Maul repeats and his hands start shaking again; Rex wraps himself up around him, blocking his arms all the way and his hands may clench on thin air but they stop shaking. Rex buries his face in the curve of his neck and Maul shivers at the sensation; his head lolls back and he hisses. “Show me,” he demands, unsure until he says it. At the words, the captain freezes.

“Show me,” Maul repeats, a command. His heartbeats accelerate. His chest rises and falls at a quickening pace; he can feel the small tendrils of fear and panic brushing the tip of his fingers, loosening his lips. “Show me.”

“I can’t,” the captain rasps like a shameful admission, his arms tightening around him. He inhales sharply, holds his breath and releases it slowly, eliciting shivers from Maul. “I can’t show you who you are,” he mutters, kissing his neck. 

And there, familiarity once again—anger consumes him. Maul’s body seethes, rage filling his veins and fueling his fury. He is denied, yet again. The captain must sense his anger; he releases him, puts his hand on the back of Maul’s head, fingers hooking on his horns and he turns him so that he can see Maul’s face.

“I can’t show you who you are,” he states, “but I can show you how I see you.”

The captain squeezes the base of one of his horns—Maul growls slowly, head jerking instinctively, demanding he does it again. He stares back at him, sees the hunger and desire in his eyes and he shivers in anticipation. “Show me,” he orders and Rex pulls him harshly against him, claiming his lips in the process. Maul’s body reacts instantly; his hands roam under the captain’s blacks, eager to have them out of the way. He’s pushed down on the ground, trapped below Rex who tilts his head to the side and bites his neck. Maul gasps, surprised, eyes widening, his body electrified and spasming.

The captain puts a hand on his chest, placating him to the ground and sits back up on Maul’s thighs. He admires his work, head tilted, chest heaving with quick breaths. He pushes away Maul’s blacks and takes off his own in the process, throwing them away like they are a personal affront. Where is his armour? 

Rex’s hands settle back on Maul’s chest, possessive fingers tracing the lines of his markings, his touch light enough to induce shivers. “Beautiful,” he whispers, entranced and reverent. Maul looks away. “Hey,” Rex says sharply. He takes his hands away, like a punishment. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He huffs, tries to cant his hips and looks down at himself pointedly. “Surely you are not so slow-witted that you fail—”

“No, don’t do that,” Rex cuts him off. “Don’t deflect like that.” He crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. Maul scowls but says nothing. “Spill. Now.” 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. He does not have to justify himself. He does not owe the captain any explanation. He grows annoyed, anger flaring, and he pushes Rex off his lap and stands up, seething. He paces rather than leaves. The captain stays sitting on the ground, observing him. It frustrates him even more.

“You need not coddle me,” he spits vehemently, baring his teeth. “I am _not—_ ” he growls in anger. “I am not some weakling—”

“Maul—”

“No!” he shouts. He stalks around the room, the urge to destroy becoming unbearable. “It is _my_ decision. _I_ am free to choose whether I want to change the terms of our association; _you_ do not have an influence on _my_ will.”

The captain just blinks, confusion and incomprehension plain on his face. It fuels Maul’s rage.

“You will not deceive me,” he growls and goes to leave the room. He stops at the door. He has to leave. Why is he not moving?

“Maul.” The captain sighs. Why is he not moving? “Maul, please.”

Rex’s hand touches his wrist, a silent question. He lets the captain’s fingers curl around it.

“You wanted me to show you,” he says, softly. It feels like a violent blow. Rex takes a step forward and he is close enough for Maul to feel his breath on his skin. “This is how I see you.”

He can feel the captain squeezing his wrist. The sudden reminder is too painful. “Maul—”

“No,” he snarls, cutting him off, and he turns around to glare at him. “I was brought up to become my Master’s blade, the sharpest weapon in his arsenal—all of my skills and talents honed to do his bidding,” he sneers through gritted teeth, pulling his wrist free. “My strength, my hate, my anger, my body—nothing belonged to _me._ I was leashed. I was not free.” He growls. “Now, I am.”

Rex stays silent. 

For a long moment he simply seethes but when his anger recedes, Maul takes a deep breath. He stares straight ahead, chin held high, and avoids the captain’s gaze. “Do not take it away from me,” he mutters.

The following silence is agonising. It takes all of his strength not to bow his head in shame. He can hear Rex take a step closer, making him tense, then swallows loudly. “I wouldn’t—”

Maul loses control of his anger again. He crowds him and pushes him against the wall, baring his teeth.

“Do you not understand? Throughout my life, there has never been a time when I did not yearn for freedom,” he growls, rage easily audible. “Yet I am challenged with the notion that I could give it away if it means you will always look at me the way you do when we are alone.” He flinches back at his own words. His hands are shaking again. “I always knew who I was. I always knew what I wanted. Now—” he looks at Rex’s face, falling silent. His hands are shaking. He tightens them into fists. He looks away, goes to put on the captain’s blacks and leaves, retreating to his ship. 

He meditates through the rest of the cycle, trying to find solace in anger yet unable to summon it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: anxiety, panic attack, dubious consent
> 
> My fic inspired art!!! [Kazhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazhan/pseuds/kazhan) posted art [here](https://kazhan-draws.tumblr.com/post/639882512094674944/so-if-you-havent-read-dead-space-between-the) inspired by a scene from chapter 18!!! Please give him love IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL I'M IN LOVE WITH REX'S FLOOFY HAIR AND THE COLORS AND THE TATTOOS AAAAAA DJGKJFGKSJFFK


	21. Kessel III

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Launching in 5, 4, 3, 2—”

Once the ships begin advancing towards Kadavo, the war room tenses. Ives stares at the dots on the holomap, knows exactly which one is the ship where Rex is on. He crosses his arms over his chest. He wants to take Holo’s hand but he knows better than to undermine her focus.

“All wings, report in,” she says, her eyes on the holomap. 

“Command, this is Red Leader.”

“I copy, Red Leader.” Around them, the analysts shift. The other callsigns are acknowledged—but there’s no mistaking the unease Red Leader created. When Finn told them they took liberties with the pre-approved battle plans, this isn’t what anyone here had in mind. But there’s not much they could do against the changes. 

“Switch to Rex’s feed,” Holo mutters absently. Ives does easily; Rex nods, acknowledging them.

It’s weird to see the Zabrak like this. Letsap and Finn say they shouldn’t worry but Ives doesn’t trust him. He’s a Sith—they twist minds and make you do things. And Ives knows it’s not easy to go against your conditioning. When his glowing eyes slide to them, it’s difficult to remind himself the Zabrak isn't actually looking at  _ them. _

“He seems worried,” Letsap says. Spanner shushes her. “What? It’s true. He keeps glancing at Rex. He’s looking for directives, I think.”

“Not the time, Let’ika,” Holo mutters. “Gold Leader, stand by.”

“I copy, HQ. Standing by.”

It’s very anxiety-inducing to look at everything from parsecs away. If something bad happens, there’s not much they can do. Spanner taps her foot on the ground. Her head’s tilted to the side; chances are she has Rose in her ear.

“They’re on the ground,” one of the analysts says. 

From then on, the war room is a bustle of activity. Letsap doesn’t feel like she belongs there. She looks at the people around her and frowns.

“Hey,” Span says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Letsap replies. “I think.” She blinks then looks around. Not many people left. How much time has passed? “Where is everybody?”

“They must be sleeping.”

“Oh.” Letsap shakes her head. “How long have I been—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Span replies.

It’s a weird thing, war—there’s so much planning and talking and arguing then the action comes in and goes out almost immediately. Letsap has nothing to do to busy her hands and nothing to do to actually contribute. She should be out there with them but the decision was taken out of her hands before she could even protest. It makes her angry. Then she feels bad. Then she feels angry that she feels bad and it’s a constant back and forth until her body settles on guilt.

Rose says it’s a good thing to feel a lot of things. Letsap thinks she’s full of poodoo sometimes but she won’t say that because Rose is good. There aren’t many people that she can safely put into the good box but Rose is one of them for sure, she thinks. 

Lying in her bed, she stares at the top bunk and frowns. They’re sleeping like nothing happened—like what they did today wasn’t monumental. This isn’t how she thought war would be. 

“What’s going on?” Spanner asks with a sigh. Letsap frowns.

“You should be asleep,” she whispers. The top bunk creaks above her.

“You too.” 

For a moment their room is silent.

Letsap huffs in frustration. “We’re not doing anything here.”

“No, we aren’t,” Spanner says immediately. The top bunk moves; Letsap stares at her head peaking on the side. “I hate it. We should be with Rex.” She gets down and sits on the bottom bunk. “It’s the Sith’s fault.”

“Maul?”

“It’s his fault,” she spits, clenching her fists tightly. “He twisted Rex’s mind. He even twisted Finn’s.”

“I don’t think he made Rex leave,” Letsap mutters. As much as Spanner would like this to be the truth, Rex chose to leave of his own volition. “And we should trust Finn.”

Span stares at her and frowns. “He’s a  _ Sith,_” she hisses. “Why am I the only one seeing this?” Letsap didn’t spend much time with him but it’s a given she got her mind twisted too—otherwise she would agree with her. Spanner huffs in frustration and leaves the room without another word.

The base is quiet now. Spanner walks by the war room but doesn’t peak inside—she doesn’t want to face Holo or Ives right now because they’re only going to complain about her not being asleep. 

The voice inside makes her stop though. She pads barefooted to the door and hovers outside.

“You’re not coming back?” Ives asks with muted shock. He frowns in obvious confusion. “Why?”

The hologram of Rex sighs, eyes shifting to the side. “Change of plans,” he mutters. “I don’t know for how long. Now that they don’t need us here—”

“Us?” Holo repeats, her gaze still on her datapad. “This is about Maul.”

“What? No.” 

Holo raises her head. “Are you telling us Maul didn’t take part in this change of plans?”

Silence. How telling. Holo shares a glance with her twin. It’s evident Rex doesn’t think straight when the Zabrak is involved.  _ COMM ROSE,  _ Holo types on her datapad so the captain can’t see it.  _ ASK UPDATE.  _ Ives doesn’t give any reaction but he glances at it and subtly nods.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Rex says with a frown.  _ Trust Me, _ he signs. Holo doesn’t sign back.

“Can you at least tell us more ab—”

“Need-to-know only,” the captain says over her.

“Ah,” she replies flatly, emulating Ack’s disappointed tone. She smiles sharply. “How convenient.”

“That’s not fair,” he whispers. She nods, ceding the point. It really isn’t but Holo is wary of Maul–as they all should–and Rex’s behavior whenever the Zabrak is involved isn’t reassuring.

“We lost good people today,” she says. Besides her Ives shifts. She pretends not to see it. “We may have won  _ this _ battle but the fight isn’t over. What could be more important than this?” She shakes her head when Rex opens his mouth. “I know—you can’t tell. I’m sharing our perspective with you. Four hours ago I was still trying to contact Green Leader because I didn’t know she was already dead; you were thrown straight in the middle of an ambush with Maul as your  _ sole _ ally and we lost one of the Mandalorian Commanders not even a minute after they landed.” She puts her datapad on the table. Rex stiffens. “The Zygerrians know you’re here. It’s only going to get harder as we go.”

“It’s just four of us,” he says.

“Four?” she repeats with a frown. “Who are the other two?”

“Mandos,” Rex tells them. “We couldn’t reach an agreement to just have Maul and I go.”

“Who are they exactly?”

“Quan Varrik and Ranah Dahn.” Ives looks them up on his datapad immediately.

Holo nods. “Be careful with Dahn,” she says. “Her clan used to be Kyr’tsad. They sided with the Empire even after its fall.” She puts a hand on the table. “Dahn was raised in that environment. Her commitment to the Way of the Mandalore is very telling.”

“They didn’t all side with the Empire.”

“Her clan did. Her commitment to the religious dogma of her family implies a lot of things.”

“That’s unfair, Holo.”

“It is. I am a product of the First Order. It’s in every movement and decision I make, even if I don’t want to,” she says with a tight smile. “My first instinct would be to kill all of the Zygerrians and take the slaves to help rebuild the Republic. I don’t indulge in the impulse nor do I want to suggest it as a viable option—but it’s here nonetheless.”

Rex sighs. “I understand,” he says calmly. His eyes shift to the side again. “I'm not saying Maul didn't influence my choice. I'm saying it's the smart one.”

“What does Poe think of this?” Ives asks. Rex doesn't answer. “He doesn't approve.”

“He's afraid.”

“You all should be,” Holo accuses. “Maul is dangerous. Did you see what happened out there?” She points at one of the recordings put on loop. “He killed them all without even breaking a sweat. And don't tell me you didn't notice it too.”

“I don't—”

“Yes, you do,” she mutters over him. “We all saw. They may not know but we all do. Put up number twelve, please.” Ives does. “Look here,” she says, pointing at a specific timeframe. “What do you see?”

Rex frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Us going inside the prison camp. What's your point?”

Holo shakes her head. “Why did he kill those men with his staff? Why did he let them come this close?”

Rex stays silent.

“And this is just one example,” she continues. “There are many others. This isn't a single occurrence—it's just part of a bigger issue.” She crosses her hands behind her back. “Maul is Force-sensitive. We can all see it—he's not like us, he's… He's  _ more_,” she settles on. She glances around and whispers, “Just like Finn.”

“Holo,” Rex warns.

“I know,” she reassures. “I won't tell. But I can sense it.” She smiles sadly. “Don't you think it's weird for someone trained in the ways of the Force to actively avoid using it when it can very well be a matter of life and death?”

“Holo—”

“He's not using his powers, Rex. I think he's afraid of using them,” she says. “I think he's afraid he can't control them. Do you understand what it means?”

Rex shakes his head, denying her claim, but his eyes betray him. As much as she doesn't want to hurt him, the evidence is blaming.

“He can't be trusted,” she tells him. “He's too unpredictable. What happens if he uses them and loses control? Do you think you'd still be fighting with the man you know or do you think you'd be facing Darth Maul?” She swallows. “The galaxy can't afford another Darth Vader, Rex.”

“That's not the same,” he growls. “That's definitely not the same.”

“Isn't it?” she mutters. “Wasn't Anakin Skywalker groomed at a very young age by Palpatine? Wasn't he struggling with the Dark side?” She blinks. “Did you ignore the signs with him too?” 

Rex stares at her but says nothing. She's not proud of what she said but she can't avert her gaze. 

“I'm sorry,” she whispers. Rex nods. He doesn’t say anything and they all know why; it’s because he has nothing nice to say and he’ll regret whatever comes out of his mouth. She thinks this is what love looks like—it makes you blind to how the people around you can hurt you. 

“Me too,” he replies. He cuts off his end of the com before she can say anything else. She lowers her gaze, clenches her hand to stop her fingers from trembling.

She’s never known General Organa—none of them did—but she heard the stories all the same. She wonders what it felt like to know your blood is tainted. There’s no mistaking the shadow of Darth Vader still haunts the galaxy and probably will for decades to come. It’s just that it seems to haunt Rex more than anyone else alive. Perhaps it was the same with General Organa.

“You didn't have to be this hard on him,” Ives mutters. He takes her wrist in his hand. She shouldn’t find so much comfort in such a simple gesture. It’s unhealthy how attached they are to each other—and she knows Ives is stopping himself to live his life because he thinks she can’t live her own as she wants. She needs to stop relying on him so much.

“He needed to see reason,” she tells him, rolling her wrist so his fingers rub on her skin. How weird. If anyone else touches her it feels like her flesh is exposed and burning; when it’s her brother it only allows her to connect to her emotions better. “Instilling fear, uncertainty and doubt in his mind will make him more vigilant.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Ives whispers. His hold on her doesn’t tighten or relax—but he holds himself straighter. “You're quoting Tierny right now.”

“She was right.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows these weren’t the right ones. She frowns. She takes her datapad and turns it on to stare at it. She doesn’t look at anything in particular. It’s just something she does to focus.

“She was FOSB,” he snaps. “Do you plan on manipulating him any further? Are you really resorting to First Order tactics now?”

“It's what I was trained to do,” she says calmly. Ives huffs.

“I was trained to kill anyone going against the First Order,” he growls. “Doesn't mean I'm going to blast everyone here.”

She shakes her head. She doesn't want to argue with him right now. “I need to sleep,” she says with a sigh, then louder, “So do you, Span.”

“He's not coming back,” Spanner says, padding inside. She tries not to wring her hands together but she's tired and there’s only Holo and Ives here. 

“No,” he mutters, frowning as soon as Holo can’t see his face. He extends his arm so Spanner can curl around his waist. “We'll still be able to communicate—just like with Tex and Ack.”

“But we don't see them anymore,” Spanner says, sounding whiny; she can tell but she doesn't really care right now. “I miss them.”

“We all do,” Holo whispers softly while Ives strokes her hair with careful fingers. “Do you want us to sleep in Rey’s hut? The weather's hot enough.”

It's a tactic to distract her—Spanner isn't stupid enough not to see it. She's stupid enough to fall for it though. She nods silently and Holo smiles warmly. It's all for her benefit because Holo doesn't smile warmly if it's not to reassure others around her. Poe says she doesn't process emotions like other people. It's like there is smoke between them and her and sometimes she can see through but most of the time she doesn't. 

It's very advantageous for combat because she rarely gets driven by impulses. It's really disadvantageous for social interactions because most people don't understand her. 

“Are you afraid to become like Agent Tierny?” Spanner asks when they're alone in Rey’s hut. Holo looks at the ground below and shrugs.

“I don't think about it,” she replies.

They lie down in bedrolls and don't speak after that. It's hard to tell but Spanner thinks it's the first time she can clearly see Holo lied. 

  
  
  


Holo’s comm wakes her up. It’s beeping insistently. Spanner sighs but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Yes,” she hears her rasp.

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry,” Rose winces. “I couldn’t comm earlier. What did you want to know?”

Besides her, Holo shifts, probably sitting up. Spanner pretends she is still asleep. 

“Did you ever see Maul use the Force?”

There’s silence for a long moment, save for the sound of rain. They’re safe here—but if it starts to wind they may get cold quickly. 

“No,” Rose says slowly. “Not that I remember. Not like Rey but—I guess it would be different with him. What are you getting at?”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. She sighs in annoyance. Spanner grimaces. Rose is tired, otherwise she wouldn’t. “I feel like half of my time is dedicated to point out the fact that Maul did  _ nothing _ to cause so much distrust yet you’re all adamant on believing he’ll betray us one way or another.”

“He escaped before meeting with the committee,” Holo says.

“Don’t tell me this is why you don’t trust him.”

“He killed a lot of people.”

“And right now we’re not?”

“Our mission is sanctioned by the Senat—”

“Oh, please.” Rose sighs again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you. I’m tired. It doesn’t excuse my behavior. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t trust him. I don’t trust the Mandalorians either,” Holo says. “This mission they’re going on—what do you know about it?”

“Not much,” is the response. “Finn and Poe are pretty tight lipped. Why?” 

“Can you go with them?”

“Wh—why?”

At that, Spanner opens her eyes to look at her in confusion. Holo doesn’t seem surprised she wasn’t asleep. 

“I think Rex is less likely to see the signs,” she says truthfully. “But you will.”

“The signs,” Rose repeats. Holo nods.

“If Maul changes. If he becomes… different.”

“You mean if he becomes evil.”

“Yes,” she admits unashamedly. “General Organa loved her son but she could see his faults.” 

Rose shakes her head. “I’m not his mother.”

“No, but you’re his friend. He’ll listen to you.”

“You want me to manipulate him.”

“I want you to remind him who he is,” she says. “I want you to keep him afloat.”

Rose shifts, averting her gaze. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

When the comm is over, Holo stays in the hut with her. They don’t talk; they just look at the world around them and enjoy its music for a while. It’s a bit weird but Spanner has come to think of Ajan Kloss as home because that’s where they live. She wonders if it will become her home forever, if she will say Ajan Kloss is her home like Poe does with Yavin-4, or if she will find another one later on. 

“Rose doesn’t get it but her task may be the most important one for the galaxy right now,” Holo whispers, her eyes on the raindrops agglomerating on the big leaves. 

“What do you mean?” Spanner asks. Her sister frowns.

“If Maul falls, I don’t think the galaxy will survive.” Her eyes slide down to her. “What he did before, what he built—he did it when he was still under Palpatine’s hold. Everything he did had to be meticulously done so as to not rouse his master’s ire. But now that Palpatine’s dead—” 

She falls silent. Spanner’s hand hover over her arm but she doesn’t touch her. Holo nods.

“If he decides to take over the galaxy,” she says, “I don’t think anyone will be able to stop him.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching updates on Wednesday to Friday because I won't have time every week to make a last quick edit otherwise haha


	22. Oba Diah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has grown much longer than expected (I estimated to wrap it up around the 80K mark. Ha!) and a couple of months ago as I wrote this chapter I decided to accelerate the pace. There’s the Growing Old Together tag and, at the moment, they only met less than two years ago,,,,and there are going to be a lot of battles and stuff happening in the galaxy whether they want it or not. I know it’s the star war, it’s always about war,,,but sometimes it’s also about visiting an old friend to put gas in the tank or con an old guy and his nephew, you know?  
> Anyway, I’m sending the beans on a side quest away from the battlefield; it’s Djarin time be gay do crime
> 
> (trigger warnings in the end notes)

  
  
  
  


“Are you going to talk to him?” Rose asks, her eyes stubbornly fixed on the stars above them.

Maul scowls. It has been two standard weeks, three days and perhaps nine hours since he exchanged more than the barest minimum with the captain. He remains silent.

“Hey, stinkman,” she says, elbowing him. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I am not,” he retorts thoughtlessly. He sighs. “I do not want to talk about him.”

He can see her eyes sliding to his face, her head tilting slightly towards him. He does not look at her.

The temperature at night is pleasant on Oba Diah—enough for them to be able to sleep outside every night. They do not care about the ostentatious quarters they were offered. They have bedrolls, a private roof and a starry sky. As long as they are together, they do not need more than this. If someone arrives, Maul will sense them—and he prefers having Rose nearby rather than on her own when she is unconscious. The Pykes may be complacent but they are still untrustworthy.

“You know I love you, right?” she asks in a low mutter. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes.

Maul stares at her silently for a long time.

“How do you know,” he asks eventually. She averts her gaze, looking at the stars again. She shrugs.

“We spent almost an entire year stuck in small quarters together and I never had the urge to kill you,” she says bluntly. “Oh, I wanted to smack you sometimes but that’s because you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

He snorts. How ironic coming from her. She squeezes his hand.

“I guess it’s the little things,” she says. “This past year I thought about you because I saw something or thought about something. I thought about you because I missed you at the most random times; I’d be walking to the war room and remember you like to meditate standing up. There was no correlation; I just thought about you.” She takes a deep breath, shoulders relaxing when her chest falls back down. “When you love someone, it’s like giving them an opportunity to haunt you, whether they want it or not. It’s a choice you made, at one specific time, even if you don’t remember it—you decided this person should stay with you, be a part of you all the time.”

When Rose falls silent, Maul frowns. “I do not understand,” he admits. She shakes her head.

“It’s difficult to explain,” she says with a small laugh. “People say they love someone more than the air they breathe sometimes. I think it’s both a complete lie and the biggest truth about love. You don’t _love_ air—you just know you need it to live and it’s a part of you that you can’t choose to give away. It’s just here. Loving someone is a bit like that; they’re here, with you, all the time, even when they’re not.” Paige’s necklace sits heavy on her chest, a token of remembrance that she wears with pride. Maul wonders if she would wear one for him should he die before her. “Even when they’re not here anymore, they’re still a part of you. And you miss them. That’s one thing about love; you can miss someone even if you don’t remember them.”

She puts her hand on his cheek. Maul knows the words, knows how to say each of them on their own, but he finds he cannot say them together. He closes his eyes, leaning against her palm.

“And you know what’s the best thing about love?” she asks. “It’s your choice. Only you decide who you’re going to love; you don’t even need them to love you back. The only person involved is you.” She chuckles. “What’s weird is that you can love someone after knowing them for a week and sometimes it’s going to take years. And you don’t even need to _see_ them for your love to grow. It took me four months after you left to realize I love you.”

Maul does not know what to say. After a moment, he can sense she fell asleep. He gets up to pick up another blanket to cover her and he goes to sit on the edge of the rooftop, watching the ocean of mountain crags before him. Oba Diah is a beautiful world. Breathtaking compared to Kadavo. 

Ever since the captain had fought beside him there, conversations have been stilted at best. Not that it was better before but… It was mostly because Maul was avoiding him. The reluctance only went one-way. He cannot say this for certain but he thinks that changed after the battle on Kadavo. Ever since, the captain has been observing him a certain way. And Maul has an idea as to why. 

He looks down. As usual, Rex is there; every night, he watches the mountains from the private platform his room offers. And every night, Maul observes him from above.

The flight to Kessel had been… tense, would be the right word. Maul’s gunship is too small for four passengers, especially considering _who_ they are. It took them an entire week and a lot of close calls to gain control of Kanjiklub—and tensions that had been put on hold before exploded right then. Rex is in charge of one of the most deadliest gangs in the galaxy but there are not even close to what he is aiming for. Maul cannot be certain but he is convinced that, had Rose not forced them to bring her with them, Ranah and Rex would have been at each other’s throats long before. She is formidable in defusing tension in any room, be it with them or Kanjiklubbers. Maul is impressed. He thinks Varrik is more than impressed but fortunately Rose does not seem to notice him. The Mandalorian is a skilled warrior but also a cunning politician that hides under an easy going personality that implies foolishness. He is nothing but. Maul does not think Rose needs anyone else but, should she look for someone, he believes Varrik is too dishonest for her.

Taking the biggest mine on Kessel had been easier than any of them expected. Clearly the Pykes’ strength was mostly inferred from their reputation. Maul cut through the guards with no issue. What had been surprising was how readily the Syndicate was to submit to them, inviting them to Oba Diah quickly. They all expected some kind of trap. So far, there is none to be found. 

“My brother led the Syndicate under your rule, my lord,” the current Imperator said when they arrived, choosing to acknowledge Maul exclusively. She bowed then added, “Ever since your… _absence,_ our strength diminished. We never recovered from your loss.”

No one dared say anything. The Imperator took it as contempt and walked to him, bowing lower.

“We missed you, my lord,” she said. “Should you wish to rebuild the Collective, know that the Pykes will follow you.” Her eyes smiled. “And I think it is safe to say the Hutts will as well.”

It was not what they expected. It was advantageous. Perhaps too much to be true.

“The captain will lead,” Maul said to the Imperator when she expected him to take back his position, his hand rising to present him. He did not know if she realized Maul was not, technically, the same man. He stopped himself from glancing down at himself. His skin was covered. For all she knows, he could still be half durasteel. 

The Imperator’s eyes widened when Rex took off his helmet. She probably knows his face; considering her physical appearance, she is just past her prime. She must have been a child during the Clone War. 

“Captain,” she acknowledged with a small bow. She made no comment on his appearance nor did she try to question Maul but she glanced at the Mandalorians. “My lord, do you plan on challenging Sabine Wren?”

Ranah stiffened immediately.

“Does it matter to you?” Maul asked with a narrow look.

“I’m afraid our strength does not reside in numbers anymore,” the Imperator admitted. “If you wish for an army, there is little we can contribute to.” 

From there, the rest went smoothly. Laalee Krim is a ruthless Imperator; Maul has no doubt she would have been a force to be reckoned with had she ruled the Pykes during their golden age. As it is, the Syndicate is in a pitiful state. It is good for the captain’s plan but it also means they must act as if they are trying to rebuild it for now.

Ranah and Varrik represent the Death Watch in the eyes of the Pykes, which seems to please all of them immensely. What is baffling is that it appears the Pykes decided Rose is Maul’s right hand. So far, none of them has tried to discourage the theory but it led to… confusing situations. Most of the time, if the Imperator is not here, the Pykes will address _Rose_ instead of addressing Maul directly—but they do not do the same with the captain. The fact that Maul and Rose decided to share quarters instead of having separate ones only strengthened their idea that Rose was the one to talk to if they needed his opinion.

The captain was given his own quarters and so were Varrik and Ranah. Rose asked Rex on the third day _why_ the Pykes behaved like this around her.

“Crimson Dawn was led by one of his proteges; it’s the only organization that survived him disappearing,” Rex explained. “There’s not much about their figurehead but under her leadership they became the strongest partner within the Collective. She was the closest head to Maul.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing they think you hold a similar position.”

On the last day of the first week, Maul said to the Imperator, “You were quick to submit.” He paced in front of her, waiting for a reaction. She stood still but the fear inside her was permeating the air.

“I don’t know how you did it but you are standing before me with flesh legs. You already destroyed those who refused your rule. You tamed Kanjiklub, succeeding where countless others have failed. I know we will not survive if you attack us,” she admitted. Her eyes brightened. “I am not foolish enough to underestimate a Sith. Especially you, my lord.”

Maul did not try to correct her.

“You see how difficult it has become for us. I cannot tell this to my people but I know it is a matter of years before our empire succumbs. This generation has seen too much in too little time,” she muttered, walking to stand in front of him. It is interesting how she always achieves to appear smaller than he is while towering over him. “I will not be as blind as the Zygerrians. I know our time has come—or, at least, I was certain of it until your return.”

“The Zygerrians will fall,” he said. She nodded in agreement. 

“The Hutt Clan will come to you in two Coruscanti weeks, my lord.” Her eyes smiled. “They grew weaker after the fall of the Empire but it won’t be difficult for them to reestablish authority in their own space once they join your ranks. I will be happy to act as your rep—”

“I already have someone,” he dismissed. He could sense her fear. The Imperator was afraid to lose her position. That would be to their advantage.

The _someone_ will arrive tomorrow. The captain has been nervous all day. He still is. Maul watches him observe the mountain crags and he knows his mind is elsewhere. His jaw clenches. He cannot explain _why_ but the captain’s behaviour feeds his rage. He is angry. Not at Rex. 

Maul is angry with himself and he does not understand _why._

The captain crosses his arms over his chest, then leans against the railing, watching the world before him. There is a part within Maul that wants to climb down the palace to join him. Another part inside him knows exactly why he does not. Both he and the captain know he should not need to climb down to join him. He could simply jump and slow down his fall with a slight push of the Force. Maul’s throat constricts and he tenses despite himself. He is unbalanced all of a sudden. He blinks away and takes a deep breath. He grits his teeth and decides to ignore this. 

The captain walks back inside. Before disappearing from view, he looks up; Maul freezes. They stare at each other for an eternity. Perhaps only seconds. All he knows is that Rex smiles softly then his head is downturned and he disappears.

Maul gasps maybe half a minute later, realising he stopped breathing. He glares at his own chest and scowls. He wants to pace. He wants to train. He glances behind him. Rose is asleep. He cannot let her outside like this if he leaves. She is sleeping. She seems at peace. He does not want to wake her up. 

Maul sighs. He stands up and walks to his bedroll, lies down and stares at the night sky. Rose shifts besides him. He glances back at her and frowns. He knows that there are no viable reasons for her to be here. He knows _why_ she decided to come with them–she never hid the fact that she wanted to make sure Maul would not… _deviate_ from the original plan. Somehow, it does not infuriate him. Somehow, knowing she is here, with him, knowing she will sense and act should he lose control—

Maul has the baffling urge to brush her hair with his fingers. 

“You’re thinking so loud I can hear everything,” Rose mumbles. He blinks. “Go to sleep.”

Maul scoffs. “You are not sleeping either.”

“It’s your thoughts. They’re too loud.”

“You cannot hear my thoughts.”

“Oh, yeah? Are you ready to bet credits on that?”

Maul snorts. He rolls his eyes when he notices she is trying not to smile.

“Did he go to sleep already?” she asks softly. Maul averts his gaze. He stays silent. After a moment, she sighs. “You should talk to him.”

“I do,” he retorts. “We spoke earlier.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I do not.”

She throws her pillow at his face then says, “Give it back.” He does with a huff. Since she does not try to keep the conversation going, he stays silent, watching the stars. 

Eventually, he falls asleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The _Meson Martinet_ is in a concerning state. One of the ship’s cannons is missing and, from what Maul can see, half of it is not pressurized anymore. Whatever mess they found themselves in must make for an interesting story—one he has no doubt Quiggold will be more than happy to recount for everyone.

“What the kriff did they do,” Rex mutters, wincing at the cringing sound coming from the ramp being extended. 

The remaining cannon screeches then rolls dangerously off the ship until it drops on the ground loudly. The Pykes watch impassively. Maul glances at Rose. Her eyes are shining.

“I am certain Reveth would be happy if you help,” he says. She looks at him as if there were ever any doubt about her _not_ helping.

“It’s even more antique than the _Millenium Falcon,_ ” she whispers with glee. “I can’t believe that thing is as old as you!”

Varrik snorts loudly behind them. When Maul turns back to glare at him, the Mandalorian only grins. The loud footsteps coming from the ramp indicate Squeaky’s arrival. Maul stiffens. If he stands behind Rose now everyone will notice. He should have done it earlier.

The Gamorrean is the first to step out of the ship; as soon as he sees them, he squeals and runs towards them at full speed. 

“Oya!” Rex exclaims, spreading his arms widely. Squeaky embraces him and lifts him up with brute strength; the captain laughs loudly when he makes them twirl. When his feet touch the ground again, Rex slides his arm around the Gamorrean’s shoulders and says, “It’s good to see you again.”

Maul can smell Quiggold before he can see him, which distracts him enough he does not realise Squeaky is _here_ until it is too late and the Gamorrean is almost constricting his airflow. “Squeaky,” he wheezes when the other just tightens his hold on him. “I cannot _breathe_.”

He is released with an amused snort. He straightens his posture and tries to regain dignity. He glances at Rex, trying to wager whether he w—

Rex is not looking at him. He is staring at the ship with a soft grin on his face. Maul follows his gaze and sees Ithano standing in front of the ramp, his crimson mask aimed at Rex.

“Look at the two of you. Long time no see, pip,” Quiggold mutters to Rex, padding toward them. He gestures at the ship. “The Guavian send their regards,” he grumbles, then points an angry finger at Maul. “You bet your horns they know you’re coming for them.”

“They attacked you?” he asks in confirmation. The pirate nods tiredly.

“You’ll see about apologizing to Reveth,” he mutters. “She is angry. We lost the Table to their cannons.” Maul suppresses a wince. “Anyway. We’re here. Who are your Mando friends?” He gives them a considering look. “How much for the beskar?”

“Quiggold,” Synara mutters with a sigh. She smiles when she sees Rex. “I heard good things about you, captain.”

Rex nods silently. His eyes keep glancing back to the corsair. 

“He’s happy to see you again, pip,” Quiggold rumbles, placing himself next to Synara. She tries not to grimace. For a Mirialan, her sense of smell is particularly astute—and considering the size of Gabdorins’ sweat glands… Standing next to Quiggold can sometimes be unpleasant. Rex on the other hand does not seem bothered.

“Why is he not coming here, then,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. Maul’s eyes narrow. He is nervous. Why? 

The corsair does not move. His mask is still aimed at Rex. Maul tenses. He sees Reveth walk down the ramp, her hand brushing Ithano fleetingly then she runs with a wide grin.

Rex takes a step back.

“Schutta!” she shouts then proceeds to punch him in the shoulder; he goes with the motion and smiles awkwardly. “You owe me credits. You owe me a camtono of credits, you slimy wermo.”

“I won fair and square,” he says with a chuckle. 

The Twi’lek gives him a sly look and grins. She gestures at Synara. “Look at her. Very pretty, eh?” The Mirialan rolls her eyes. “Very smart too. She shares my bunk. It’s been three Hosnian months. You see? You were right, you see?” Her eyes slide to her. “Light of my life, she is.”

“Reveth,” Synara sighs, closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“You are very pretty too,” Reveth says nodding at Rose.

“Thank you?” Rose says with a confused frown. When she glances back at him, Maul only sighs. Reveth only speaks when she is happy. He is going to ignore her because he does want her to speak but he cannot handle listening to her for hours on end. “I was told you might need help for—” she gestures vaguely at the _Meson Martinet._ Reveth’s lekku curl around her shoulders.

“You are a mechanic?” she asks. “Where did you hide her, pip?”

“I didn’t _hide_ her,” Rex mutters. “I didn’t know her yet.”

The Imperator takes a step forward; she stays decidedly behind Maul. “We welcome you to our world,” she says with a bow. The tone of her voice is condescending—not in an obvious way but after having observed her ever since they arrived, Maul can tell. Rose shares a look with him that says she heard as much. “Will Captain Ithano join us?”

Squeaky grunts. He says something to Quiggold that makes the Gabdorin hums. “Yes,” he replies. Reveth still smiles but she seems to close off slowly. 

“He’s coming,” Synara says with a respectful nod. 

Ithano walks to them. His mask turns to the Mandalorians but he does not nod, simply watches them then his gaze swipes elsewhere, to Rose, to whom he tilts his head slightly to the left. Maul has not spent enough time with the crew of the _Meson Martinet_ to understand his body language—mostly, he had to rely on Quiggold.

The corsair does not acknowledge Rex at all. Maul schools his features, staying impassive. When he is close enough, Ithano raises his left hand slowly and curls his fingers around Maul’s left elbow, his mask dipping for one, two, three seconds—then he releases him and takes a step back. 

“I believe we have much to discuss,” the Imperator says. Maul gives her an obvious side glance then looks at Rex for confirmation. Ithano does not move—but there is a wave of shock coming from him that is strong enough for Maul to sense.

Rex nods. 

Rose stays behind with Reveth and Squeaky while Quiggold stands besides Rex, sharing a hushed conversation that makes Maul frown. Ithano walks right next to him, silent as ever, and his mask stays turned to Ranah and Varrik.

“You aren’t in charge,” Synara tells him when they arrive in the throne room; the Imperator does not sit but she looks at Maul, expecting him to take her place.

“I am not,” Maul confirms, pointing at Rex with his chin. “The Captain is.”

“I need you to be the middleman,” Rex says, staring at Ithano. “We had a change of plan.”

“You want the Hutts,” Quiggold interjects. “What are you doing, pip?”

The corsair makes a silent gesture, a back and forth between him and Rex, then nods towards Maul. Quiggold scoffs.

“That’s bold. I didn’t peg you for a sarlacc, pip.” He grumbles. “The Hutts won’t agree.”

“What if I take care of the Guavian?” Rex says with a raised eyebrow. Ithano’s head tilts.

“ _You_?” Quiggold exclaims. “Don’t get us wrong but the Guavian Death Gang grew a lot since you decided to do your own thing. Fierfek, we can still hold our end of the lane but have you seen our crew?” He points at Synara. “She’s the only one you don’t know. We’re barely surviving as it is, pip.”

“Our clan stands with the Captain,” Varrik says, speaking for the first time. He takes off his helmet and holds it to his hip. Ithano shakes his head from one side to the other. Varrik’s lekku twitch. “Do you have something to say, Kaleesh?”

“One clan, that doesn’t mean anything,” Quiggold says with a huff. It seems that, as usual, Captain Ithano will stay silent and rely on his first mate to discuss. “What about you, horns? Are you in?”

“I am,” Maul confirms. Synara hums with a frown.

“If the captain is in charge,” she says slowly, “what are you interested in?”

Rex does not tense but there is something sharp surging through the Force—enough for Maul’s eyes to slide to him. He cannot see his face, only the back of his head. It unnerves him.

“We want the same thing,” the captain says. Synara’s eyes narrow.

“Really,” she says with a tone that implies she does not believe him in the slightest. Ranah snorts.

“Kaysh Rayk’riduur,” the Mandalorian booms. A surge of shock ripples through the Force; Maul stares at Ithano, startled and confused. Ranah raises her hand abruptly in a gesture he does not understand—but it is not difficult to infer it is an insult of some kind. 

“What does that mean?” Quiggold asks.

“Partner,” Varrik translates. “They’re partners.”

The Gabdorin snorts. “That true, horns?”

Maul nods, taking a step forward, closer to Rex but still behind him. “Yes,” he confirms. The sooner everyone understands _who_ is in charge, the better. “I do what he says.”

Quiggold shares a look with the corsair. Ithano does not move. “Alright,” the Gabdorin says. “What do you have in mind, pip?”

Rex gestures at the guards to bring him the holopod. He waits for everyone to gather around then exposes part of his plan. Maul knows what is missing, what the captain keeps to himself even though it does not look like anything is hidden.

One thing is certain—Rex is always breathtaking in these kinds of situations. Maul does not know what exactly it is but there _is_ something. Perhaps his eyes, switching from one point to another, seeing and calculating and preventing hypothetical events; or perhaps the creases forming on his forehead and between his eyebrows when he is deep in concentration; perhaps the slow, even rumble of his voice, the way his lips move to form one word then the other and another, the slight twitches of his mouth and the dimple that appears at particular movements; or perhaps—

Maul blinks and looks around him. The others are staring at the holopod. He has no idea what the conversation is about. He throws another glance around and his eyes widen before he can stop himself when he sees Ithano’s mask facing him. The corsair cocks his head minutely and Maul can sense his amusement. He cannot scowl. If he averts his gaze he may appear bashful.

He stares back. Ithano’s mask does not move. Maul glares.

“Are you two even listening?” Synara interjects, startling them both. He can see her frowning in annoyance next to Ithano.

“They’re not,” Rex mutters but he does not seem bothered. “You’ll brief yours and I’ll brief mine.” Maul clears his throat but does not avert his gaze. He gives the corsair a narrow look. He cannot sense anything from him anymore. Who taught him how to shield himself through the Force? 

It takes a moment, a while to be fair, but the meeting is adjourned. Maul and Ithano have been staring at each other through the entire ordeal. It takes Synara placing herself between them and dragging her captain out of the room for them to stop. Maul is stopping himself from growling or scowling but it is not an easy task. His fingers itch to take his staff and fight the corsair.

He has no idea why but it seems Ithano has become the target of his anger.

“Are you done?” Rex asks. Maul hums. “He’s gone. They’ve all left.” When he doesn’t budge, Rex sighs heavily. “Kar’ika.”

He blinks then looks at the captain in question.

“You didn’t listen to a thing, yeah?” Rex shakes his head and huffs with a smile. “I know how Cas feels like now, I guess.”

Maul dips his chin. “I… It was not on purpose,” he replies lamely. The captain offers him a soft smile. Maul’s hands twitch on their own.

“It’s alright,” Rex whispers, raising his hand to touch his arm. 

The fingers hover but never graze him. Something crosses over Rex’s face—something Maul does not understand. His hand retracts slowly and goes back to the captain’s side.

“I need to com Span,” he whispers and his smile now indicates he feels awkward. Maul does not know what to do. “I, er. I’ll see you later.”

He waits for Rex to leave the room to touch his neckline. There is—his throat feels tight. He does not know why. His eyes slide back to his arm and he flinches.

He goes to his quarters, avoiding everyone else. He goes outside and takes his clothes off to meditate, trying to regain balance. It takes him several hours, half of the day to feel once again in control. He does not understand.

“What are you doing here?” Rose asks as soon as she sees him outside. Her face is full of grime. She probably came back to take a shower.

“I am meditating,” he replies, closing his eyes once again.

“Okay.” He can hear her pad closer. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what.”

“Well.” She moves around him—he is not sure what she is doing. “You tell me. How did it go?”

He does not reply. He has no answer for her. He can still hear her move around; he sighs heavily and opens his eyes once again. She walks closer to him and slightly raises her hand between them. After a long moment of staring at it, he takes it in his.

“I am unbalanced,” he admits in a mutter, watching the spots of grease on her fingers, feeling them with the pad of his thumb. “I do not know why.”

“Is it the Force?”

“No,” he replies immediately with a shake of his head. He frowns. “It is…” He touches his throat. “I do not know how to explain.”

She squeezes his hand tightly. “It’s alright. We have time.”

He huffs in annoyance. “I do not _need_ time to—” His throat closes up. He shakes his head.

“Hey,” Rose says. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he growls then clamps his mouth shut. She is only trying to help. The fact that she does not push him to explain himself is a relief that angers him. Her thumb brushes the back of his hand. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “It is not…”

He sighs in frustration. How is it that his original self seemed to speak so _easily_ and _he_ struggles to even explain something so simple? How can he not be even capable o—

“Maul,” Rose whispers, bringing him out of his head. He closes his eyes and nods sharply. “We have time.”

“I know,” he rasps then clears his throat. “Our relationship is unbalanced.”

Her hand stills. “Why do you say that?”

“You give me much more than I give you,” he admits.

“Hey.” She shakes their hands softly. “Look at me.” He does reluctantly. She is frowning. “Friendship isn’t about that. I don’t do any of what I do expecting something in return; I just do it because I want to.”

He nods, even though he finds it hard to believe. Perhaps… not coming from _her_ but coming from others—he is not sure her words would always ring true.

“Ever since we…” He clears his throat, frowning, trying to get the words to come out of his throat smoothly. “Ever since Kadavo, Rex has been… distant.” He shakes his head. “I… I want to fix it. I do not know how.”

For a moment, silence reigns. Maul grows restless but forces himself to stay still.

“Do you know why he’s acting like this?” Rose asks. He shakes his head.

“No. Yes. I—” He closes his mouth and sighs through his nose. She squeezes his hand. “Perhaps. I believe he—” He closes his eyes. This should be easy. Why is it not? “He is…”

He takes a step back, breaking their hold, then cannot stop himself from pacing. Every time he glances at Rose he grows more restless. He growls and freezes to a halt.

“Maul?”

He flinches. “He is afraid,” he whispers, shaking his head. He cannot breathe. “He is afraid of me. I do not know how to fix it. I—”

He takes a step back and shakes his head. He cannot breathe. His hands are beginning to shake. No. Not again. He cannot breathe. Not again, he does not—

Rose curls herself around him and he gasps. She tightens her embrace, pressing his arms to his sides and, after a while, he can breathe easily again. He inhales slowly, holds then exhales. He repeats the process until he feels he can let his chin rest on the top of her head. He can breathe. His hands are not shaking. He can breathe.

“Are you afraid,” he rasps. Feeling her head shake allows him to breathe more freely.

“I’m not afraid,” she mumbles against his chest. “And I’m not going anywhere, stink man.”

He nods minutely. His body feels tired all of a sudden. “You are the one covered in grease,” he reminds her. He feels her laugh against him. It vibrates through his stomach.

“I’m not the only one anymore,” she says smugly. Somehow, this is not what he expected. She tightens her embrace and says, “You need to take a shower, stink man.”

It takes time–an entire minute spent in silence, perhaps more–but Maul laughs.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: anxiety, panic attack
> 
> (Y'all I'm so sorry I just realized I updated with the wrong version that's full of typos... it should be fixed)
> 
> Yeah sex is cool but have you ever heard of platonic cuddling ( ͡° ل͜ ͡°)爻( ͡° ل͜ ͡°)


	23. Oba Diah II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut!

The Hutts are not difficult to convince. The fact that Maul stands behind Rex may be the reason; it seems that most of them remember his original self and know better than to gamble on their chances of survival should they refuse their offer.

“—asked about your relations with the New Republic. You appear to be close to Genera—”

“Highest level,” Rex says, cutting off the protocol droid. So far, he has not uttered a word of Huttese. “Enough to comm the First Senator personally. Enough to know the Mand’alor will not intervene as long as we avoid her Space.” He gestures at Ranah. “Perhaps you remember Death Watch. I can—”

One of the Hutts cuts him off; Maul ignites one of his blades in warning. Rex does not even flinch—but the Hutt falls silent.

“Stand down,” he rumbles softly and Maul does immediately, startled by his tone and the feeling of warmth he senses through the Force. He stares at the back of the captain's head and suddenly nothing else seems important.

He has the urge to touch him. It has been the case for weeks. The urge has been… difficult to quench ever since Ithano’s crew arrived. His eyes glance to the corsair besides them and his jaw clenches. Maul has grown wary of him. 

The flight back to Oba Diah is tense. Whereas Maul is with the Mandalorians, Rex went on the _Meson Martinet._ To say that this arrangement unnerves him would be an understatement—but he keeps it to himself. The pirates do not stay, which means that as soon as they arrive, Rex steps out of the ship and embraces every crewmember—Synara as well even though she joined them after his time. There is no doubt he is attached to them as much as they are attached to him. Maul wonders if one day he will decide to go back to them. It does not know what it means for him. He does not want to think about it. When Ithano’s turn comes, something in the Force stirs. The corsair raises two fingers and softly brushes Rex’s cheek, then his chin. Maul glances at Rex’s expression and stiffens.

He leaves without a word. He goes to his quarters and trains for the rest of the day.

“Maul,” Rose calls for the upteenth time, perfectly knowing he is ignoring her yet not acknowledging it. “Maul.”

“What,” he snaps, panting, stopping in the middle of a kata. “What do you want.”

“For you to take a shower before we join the others,” she says dryly. “Which I have been trying to tell you for ten minutes now.”

“I do not—”

“Rex is waiting for us.”

Maul scowls. She only shrugs. “Very well,” he mutters begrudgingly. 

When he arrives, Rose and the others are already here—Rex’s eyes glance at him but he continues talking. He is speaking about the Guavian. Ranah argues with him but it seems he covered all of her questions before she even thought about them. Maul smiles. Rex’s eyes slide to him and there is a sharp sense of panic through the Force. Maul stills. The captain averts his gaze and ignores him for the rest of the briefing. 

He has no idea what is said after this.

In the evening, he looks at the mountain crags in front of him but his eyes never gaze down. Rose sits down besides him for a long time, content to simply spend time with him in silence. After a moment, she lets her head rest on his shoulder and he sighs.

“How long have you been this tense?” she murmurs. Maul swallows but stays silent.

She falls asleep after a while. He brings her to her bedroll and lies down in his own, watching the stars. He cannot find sleep. He looks at Rose besides him and sighs. He needs to stretch his legs. He remains stubbornly inside his bedroll for another half hour before giving up. If he keeps sighing he is going to wake her up. 

He gets up silently and walks to the edge, watching the night sky. The platform leading to the captain’s quarters is empty. Unsurprising considering the hour yet Maul cannot stop himself from frowning. He touches his throat gingerly and scowls. This feeling of—This _tightness_ in his throat every time he even _thinks_ about him is infuriating. 

Maul catches himself growling and startles. He is unbalanced. He _feels_ unbalanced. He knows why and he knows how to fix it—so why does he still feel unbalanced? He has chosen not to fix this. Not yet. Acknowledgment should be enough. Why is it not?

It is infuriating how easily he can imagine what Rose would say. It grits on his nerves because it is not the answer he wants.

He turns back. He cannot let her sleep outside on her own. For a moment, he frowns at the ground below, not knowing what to do. It is not a good idea. Perhaps he should stay here. He glances back. If he can carry her inside without waking her up she will be safer. He glares at the platform below. After an entire minute of debating with himself, he sighs through his nostrils in frustration and gets up, silently walking to Rose. 

She grumbles as soon as he tries to lift her up. “It is only me,” he whispers, attempting to carry her as comfortably as he can. “You cannot sleep outside.”

“You’re going somewhere?” She blinks blearily and yawns. “I can walk, you know.”

“I know,” he says. He still carries her inside. She falls back asleep as soon as he puts her down, burying her face in the pillow. She is lighter than she should be. Lighter than she was when he landed on Ajan Kloss. Perhaps she does not like the food here.

Maul frowns. Rose is not a youngling. She does not need his help to survive. Why is he acting like this? It does not make any sense. He _knows_ she does not need his help. He blinks then decides to leave before he can change his mind, going back outside. He walks to the edge and watches the mountain crags before him. He takes a deep breath and jumps, landing five metres below to begin his descent. He holds himself on a window. Behind it stands Varrik, who stares at him like he is not sure whether Maul is outside or if he is just imagining him. He stares back, face impassive, and then keeps going down. 

He lands silently on Rex’s platform. The door leading inside was left ajar. Perhaps Maul misjudged. Perhaps he should climb back to his quarters. He looks up and remembers Varrik will see him if he does and will quickly draw conclusions. The Mandalorian can be insufferable when he is curious. Maul would rather not give him an opportunity to nag him. His eyes land back on the slightly opened door and he sighs silently.

He did not realise this would lead him straight to the bedroom. Even though it is kind of obvious. He takes a step inside and tenses. It is pitch black in here; he walks around and sees a mirror. When he turns back, there are two blasters aimed at his centre of mass from the bed.

“Oh, it’s you,” Rex says with raised eyebrows when he sees what Maul assumes is his eyes. He puts the blasters down. “Everything alright?”

Maul blinks. He has no idea what to say. 

After a long moment spent in awkward silence, Rex cocks his head. “Lights on. Thirty percent,” he says. He blinks and his eyes focus on him. “Maul? Is something wrong?”

Maul stays silent.

Rex frowns. He is worried. “Talk to m—” he closes his mouth and averts his gaze. His hand clutches the sheets around his bare waist. Maul swallows but no sounds come out. The captain inhales sharply and holds his breath. He releases it silently but slowly. Maul’s hand twitches.

“Are you afraid?” he asks. He regrets the question immediately.

The captain stares. Maul forces himself to stillness. He should have stayed silent. He watches Rex move, pushing the sheets away from him and hesitating at the last second before getting up. Maul’s hand twitches. The captain’s eyes instantly focus on it. They slide up to his face and he swallows, blinking.

Rex stands up and walks to him; he stops right in front of him, his hand hovering between them, seeking contact but not closing the gap. His fingers are steady but his voice has a shaky quality when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

Maul nods silently. He closes his eyes and gasps when Rex crowds him, his forehead resting against Maul’s temple.

“I’m not afraid,” the captain whispers, voice rumbling. The vibrations created send shivers through Maul’s chest. Rex takes in a sharp breath, his lips caressing his cheek, and he says, “I’ll never be afraid of you, kar’ika.”

“You cannot know that,” he retorts at once. The captain chuckles; he can feel the sound against his chest.

Eyes still closed, Maul tilts his head slightly towards him until their noses bump. When Rex kisses him he responds with a soft sigh.

“Stay here tonight,” the captain whispers across his lips. Maul shivers. He curls his fingers on Maul’s clothes and tugs, leading him to the bed.

“Captain,” he gasps against his lips, hands seeking skin—he places them on Rex’s bare hips and groans. They fall on the mattress at once and the captain’s fingers press on his dorsal horns, pulling a moan out of his throat.

The touches stay chaste but, before he can understand what is happening, Rex has already gotten him out of everything but his pants and boots. His hands are stroking his back in a soothing rhythm, lips laying kisses in the crook of his neck. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Rex whispers on his skin. 

Maul rolls off him to throw his boots away and Rex pulls him inside the bed as soon as he is done, placing him on his back and leaning over him. The captain’s thumb brushes the edges of his mouth and he stares at him with an intensity Maul does not understand.

“I’m sorry,” Rex says softly. “I wanted to give you space. I didn’t realize it could look like I was doing something else.”

Maul looks at him and stays silent. He does not know what to say. He sees doubt crossing the captain’s face and sees him leaning away slightly so he raises his hand, buries his fingers in soft hair and pulls him closer until he can kiss him. The response is immediate.

“Lights off,” Rex murmurs in his mouth. As soon as they are plunged in the dark, he sighs. He shifts, until Maul can see his head hovering above his chest and he says, “Can I…”

Maul pulls him close and sighs in satisfaction when Rex’s head lies above his hearts. He closes his eyes.

He falls asleep less than a minute later.

  
  
  


He wakes up to a weight that should not feel so familiar on his back. The captain is snoring softly. Maul smiles. Then, suddenly, he finds it difficult to contain his laughter—it is as if the urge cannot be pushed away. He tries not to make a sound but he knows his frame is still shaking. In a matter of seconds, Rex groans on top of him. It has the opposite effect of what he wants; Maul snorts. Then he cannot stop himself from laughing.

The captain swears in Huttese. “Too early, sleemo,” he moans, tugging the sheets higher to cover themselves up. “Sleep or go away.”

Maul rolls his eyes. He begins to move but stills when the captain growls. “You told me to go away,” he reminds him dryly.

“No.”

“You… did. Not even a sec—”

“No,” he groans. “You’re warm. Shut up. Sorry.” After a long moment, Rex sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, kar’ika,” he mumbles. “Can you stay?”

Maul snorts. He stays. He falls back asleep.

He wakes up to the smell of food. He opens one eye and is met with the sight of Rex eating fruit and reading on his datapad, sitting on the bed with his legs stretched. He decides to stay silent and observe him. He is certain the captain knows it already but, since he has yet to acknowledge him, Maul understands he is allowed to. He has started shaving again. There are hairs on his chin but not as many as there could be. How unfortunate. At least he still has some on his chest. Do Humans shave their chest as well? What about their arms?

“Why do you shave your face but not your arms?”

Rex freezes mid-motion, a piece of fruit between his lips. Maul shivers.

“Good morning,” he says. Maul keeps staring at him. “Er. It itches.”

“Shaving?” He frowns. “Then why do you?”

“No, no, er—” He bites the fruit then touches his chin. “My beard itches. At least the first weeks.”

“Then? It does not anymore?” Maul gives him a narrow look. “Could something alleviate the discomfort?”

“Er. I don’t know. Moisturizer, maybe? I don’t know.” Rex frowns. “Why? Do you… want to grow a beard?”

Maul rolls his eyes. He does not answer. He takes a look at the bowl between them and takes a piece of fruit. He hums. “Meiloorun,” he notes. “I did not know Oba Diah grew meilooruns.”

“They don’t,” Rex confirms. “It’s imported. Hang on.” 

He puts his datapad on his thighs and takes something on his other side. He places two bowls between them, takes a piece of fruit from the first one then dips it in both bowls—some kind of cream and cereals of sorts. Maul eyes it with interest and raises his head when Rex extends his hand.

“Try it,” he says so Maul leans closer and takes a bite.

It is interesting. It tastes good. He likes it.

“Give me more,” he mutters, hovering closer. He hums when Rex does. It melts and crunches, then his mouth is invaded with the sour taste of meiloorun. He licks his fingers clean.

“Do you like it,” the captain rasps. Maul nods. He sees his throat bob and tilts his head in confusion. Rex gives him another bite so he opens his mouth and his breath hitches when Rex’s fingers linger. 

“Do you want more,” he asks. Somehow the question seems to be deeper than it ought to be. Maul blinks.

“No,” he says, testing out. 

Rex nods then puts the bowls and his datapad away. He leans closer, slowly, staring at his face then something passes over his face. He swallows and asks, “Can I kis—”

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes before Rex touches his lips and shivers when he does. Maul’s hands go to the captain’s back and pulls him closer; when Rex gasps he takes advantage of it and deepens the kiss. He does not think too much about it when he flips them over and kisses his jaw, then his neck, nipping the skin in satisfaction.

Rex moans and his hand hook around his horns, keeping him there. Maul nips him again.

“Wait,” the captain gasps, making him still instantly. “Fierfek if—if you keep doing this, I, er, I’m going to be aiming for more than just morning kisses and—”

“Do you not want to?” Maul asks in a mutter, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice. He would be… disappointed but… He leans away. Perhaps he misjudged the situation.

“Do you?” Rex asks back.

Maul swallows, staring at the captain’s throat. He swallows again. “Yes,” he whispers. “However I do no—”

“Bite me,” Rex blurts out. “Just—” He gestures at the curve of his neck. “When you bit me there last time I— _O_ _h_ _fierfek—_ ”

Maul hums in satisfaction when he feels his skin between his teeth; Rex writhes under him and moans loudly, keeping his head down against him. He begins to roll his hips, panting heavily, so Maul bites him harder. Rex keens. The sound is surprising but ignites something inside him—Maul growls and takes his wrists to pin them above his head.

“Come on, come on, come on—” Rex says fervently, legs curling around his waist and he starts grinding frantically, moaning with his head thrown back. Maul laps at his throat and nibbles the skin with a low hum, arousal and a deep, underlying sense of hunger and possessiveness muddling his thoughts. 

Rex tugs at their clothes impatiently and curses. 

“Captain,” Maul says with a warm laugh. “We have time.” He hopes. He is not entirely sure. “Yes?”

“If someone even thinks about comming me I’ll kriffi—”

Maul kisses him. Rex does not seem to complain. He takes off their clothes slowly, humming low in his chest when he can feel Rex’s skin against his own. He takes them both in hand and moans softly, marvelled by the differences and the sensations. 

“Are you—” He does not know how to say this. “Is it…”

Rex pushes him away to look at him. His face is serious but his eyes betray him.

“Are you going to make a size joke?” he says with raised eyebrows. “Because there's nothing you can say I haven't thought about before and—”

“What,” Maul says with a frown. “I—no, I was not…” He scoffs. “What do you mean you—”

“Er, nothing,” Rex says, clearing his throat. “What were you going to ask?”

Maul swallows, looking between them. “I was wondering if… Perhaps I was doing something wrong.”

“Er… no. Why, er, why would you think that?” Rex wets his lips. “I can’t get any bigger and I don’t have ridges. No knot either.”

“No, I know,” he replies, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I—nevermind.”

“Talk to me, kar’ika. I won’t… You can ask.”

“You are very dry,” he mutters, looking at his length with confusion. He should have stayed silent. Why did he have to—

Rex laughs openly. Maul stiffens. “No, no, don’t take it badly, please,” he says quickly. “It’s just that I was—I was surprised at first, alright? Humans don’t produce as much precum so, er. It was a good surprise?”

Oh. Maul nods silently. He is not doing anything wrong, then.

“Do you have another question?”

“No,” he says immediately. Rex grins and pulls him closer.

“Bite me,” he whispers against his cheek then slowly rolls his hips. “Come on, give it to m—” He moans loudly then laughs in delight. “Fierfek, you’re doing it on purpose!”

Maul’s torso shakes. “Perhaps,” he admits in the curve of his neck. He kisses his skin tenderly then mutters, “Rex.”

The captain stills. “Yes?”

Maul stays silent. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

“Kar’ika? Talk to me.”

“I—” He closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath, holds it then exhales slowly. “Could we…” He sighs in frustration. Rex’s hand slides to his back and strokes his spine.

“We have time,” the captain reminds him. “I could ride you again if you want.”

Maul shudders. “Yes,” he mutters. It is not exactly what he had in mind but he will not pass up the opportunity of having Rex—

“Hey, talk to me.” Maul closes his eyes when he feels a kiss on his temple, right besides his horn. “Tell me what you want.” He keeps stroking his back. “Or show me if you can.” 

This… is not a bad idea. Maul swallows, takes a deep breath then sits back up. Rex looks at him in question. He wants to avert his gaze. He does not. 

“Kar’ika?”

He takes Rex’s hands in his own and curls them on his hips. Then, exhaling softly, he begins to slowly grind on his lap, gasping when his rear grazes Rex’s length. The hold on his hips tightens almost painfully. 

“Kar’ika,” Rex whispers. Maul stares back at him and moans. “Do you…”

He nods. “Yes,” he replies, eyes fluttering shut, the friction intoxicating. “Can we?”

“Yes! Yes,” the captain repeats less loudly. He wets his lips. “Have you ever…” Maul shakes his head. Rex nods. “Alright,” he rasps. “Er. You know, prep isn’t going to be pleasa— _Fierfek. Fierf—ah, Maul—_ ” Rex flips them over abruptly; Maul’s eyes widen and he is kissed before he can say something. The captain chuckles against his lips and rumbles, “You do it on purpose.”

Maul laughs.

  
  
  
  


Preparation is… unpleasant. Odd. He was not expecting this. It is much more exciting the other way around. He wonders if he should be more careful. Perhaps he was too quick to add another fing—

“You need to relax,” the captain says for the third time in less than a minute. Maul scowls. “Relax.”

“I am _trying,_ ” he growls. He realizes he is not. He takes a deep breath and inhales slowly. Then he winces. 

“Do you want to stop?”

“I—” He closes his eyes and calms down. “Are you certain it becomes—”

“Well I wouldn’t be happy to ride your giant dick if it was like this all the time,” Rex says dryly with raised eyebrows. Maul admits he may be right. He concedes the point. “We can still stop.”

He sighs heavily; the sound is cut off by a gasp. Maul blinks.

“Ah?” Rex says with a grin. He does something with his fingers then—

“Ah,” Maul gasps. He nods quickly. “Can you d—” Oh. That’s… That’s—“ _Rex_.”

The captain laughs proudly.

  
  
  


“I am ready,” Maul repeats once again then gasps, eyes closing when Rex’s fingers brush just right. “Captain.”

“Not yet, kar’ika,” Rex mutters on his chest, clever fingers curling around his length to tease him. “We’re almost here.”

He crooks his fingers and Maul lets out a loud, wanton moan that makes him want to hide his face in the pillow. His hips are frantically grinding and trying to get him to go _deeper._ Now he understands why Rex likes this. Maul does as well. A lot.

When Rex enters him, he is already trembling and vocalising to the point that he is not sure how long he has been. The captain stops halfway through to kiss him soundly; Maul rocks his hips softly, legs curling around his waist. His hands roam over Rex’s large frame, fingers caressing rough skin, tips mapping scars. One hand settles in his hair, the softness eliciting a moan out of him, to which the captain replies by deepening the kiss, making Maul’s mouth his, and he cannot stop himself from shivering, his other hand grasping at Rex’s rear. The captain goes back to that slow pace and Maul's toes curl on their own—he can feel Rex’s muscle clench under his hand every time he thrusts deeper inside him.

He has to break the kiss to gasp, head thrown back. Rex keeps moving inside him, his cock brushing ag— _oh, oh, right ther—_

He moans loudly, a full body shiver wrecking him, and his eyes cross. The captain chuckles, hips pulling almost out and sliding back in in this torturously slow rhythm. Why did they not do this earlier? Why do they not do this all the time. They should do this all the time.

Another thrust kills his track of thought; shivering, he throws his head to the side, staring at the window. Oh, _oh—right there, yes._ He closes his eyes, sight becoming too much to bear, his senses overwhelmed.

The captain's voice echoes through his chest. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Maul blinks, shaking his head, trying to put his thoughts in order. Stop? Why would he stop? How can he even ask?

Rex stills. Maul frowns, trying to parse through—

“Kar'ika,” the captain calls in a whisper. “Are you alright? You went all silent.”

Oh. Perhaps he did. 

“Kiss me,” Maul demands, looking at Rex's face. He sees his frown deepen, can feel the beginning of a protest so he repeats, “Kiss me.”

The captain does. Maul starts rocking slowly, trying to tell him what he wants without words. Their kiss deepens and Rex begins moving again—slow, sensuous rolls of his hips that shatter Maul to the core. He has to break the kiss again—he wants to look at him, wants to see his eyes, his lips, his nose, every facet of his face. His hand slides down from the crown of Rex’s head to settle on his jaw; he brushes his cheek with his thumb and releases a shivering gasp. Rex smiles softly, nuzzling his palm, and he pushes once again inside Maul. He cannot stop himself from staring. He cannot stop himself from sobbing.

“Do you want to st—”

“No,” he gasps. “Do not stop. Do not—” he moans loudly at a particular thrust, head tilting back once again without him meaning to. He pushes on Rex's thighs with his heels, staring back at him and sneers, “You will not stop. Not until I—”

Rex’s hips jerk—his cock slides out of him and he gives him a single brutal thrust that makes Maul bounce and shout a surprised, gasping wail. Oh, _oh_ _that—_

“Fierfek, Maul, I’m sorr—”

“Do it again,” he whispers shakily, out of breath. That thrust was—“Again.”

Rex freezes. “Are you,” he rasps, voice rough, then swallows. “Are you sure you want—We don't have to—”

Maul loses patience; he pulls the captain’s head closer, bites his neck harshly and growls, “Kriff me _harder_.”

Rex pulls almost all the way out then slams back inside him brutally. Maul gasps. He does it again. And again. And again—a slow, punishing pace that makes his eyes roll on their own, and he holds onto Rex, breathing heavily. 

“Fa— _ah_ —ster,” he whispers feverishly, hiccuping. He can feel his muscles beginning to tremble on their own. 

“Kar’ika—”

“Faster,” he begs, whining loudly. “Captain.”

Maul pulls him into a kiss again, moaning, and he starts clenching around Rex's cock pulling him deeper and deeper inside him, demanding more. 

“Rex,” he whispers shakingly against his lips. “I want you.” He plants his feet on the mattress and moves his hips in a sinuous roll, rocking against each thrust. His senses are overwhelmed; all he can focus on is Rex, his body, his mind—Rex invades his thoughts, takes claim of him and Maul whines. He pulls him closer, nuzzles his cheek, kisses his temple and asks, “Make me yours.”

Rex stills. For a long moment, neither of them moves.

Maul panics. He should have stayed silent. He must try to salvage this. He should have stayed silent. What an idiot he—

The captain pushes Maul’s legs away, freeing himself from the embrace; he curls his hands on the back of Maul’s knees and almost bends him in half, as if testing his flexibility. He would huff to show how vexed he is if he could but, as it is, Maul cannot even seem to remember how to breathe. The captain lifts Maul’s legs until his shoulders press against them.

“I don't need to,” Rex tells him, pulling him up by his horns harshly until their faces are close enough their noses touch. Maul's eyes widen. Rex kisses him forcefully then lets go of him, dropping him back down on the bed, and follows him, growling against his jaw. He pulls out until only the crown of his cock is inside Maul and states, “You're already mine.”

Rex kriffs him so hard and fast Maul screams and thrashes. He finds new angles, new rhythms, does not let him get used to one before he shifts to the next. Maul's senses are shot to pieces; he cannot remember _where_ they are or _how_ they ended up here, nor wh—

“Look at me,” Rex snaps, taking his jaw in hand harshly and stilling immediately. Maul opens his eyes, blinks away the fog in his mind and swallows down the wanton whine trying to escape his throat. “You're with me right now. You stay with me. Understand?”

“Yes,” he rasps. He did not realize he screamed enough to nearly lose his voice. He looks at his hands. They are shaking.

“Okay,” Rex mutters, letting go of his jaw to caress his cheek. “Okay?”

No. “Yes,” he replies.

Rex does not move.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks. Maul’s eyes widen when he feels him rise away from him. “We can stop—we don’t have to—”

Maul whines in frustration, hands latching on the captain’s shoulders, pulling him back on him. It takes a moment but, slowly, he feels Rex’s hands sneak between him and the bed, settling against the small of his back and between his shoulder blades.

“I’m going to flip us over. You’ll have to hold yourself up on your hands,” he says with a nod. “Okay?”

Maul nods back.

“Okay?” the captain asks again. “You can say no.”

“Y—” his throat closes on its own and he inhales sharply. He closes his eyes, jaw clenching, and takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds, then releases it. 

Maul nods. “Okay,” he says because somewhat the word does not try to stay inside at all cost.

It is done in the blink of an eye; Maul inhales sharply and the captain is under him, holding his shoulders up so he does not fall down on top of him.

“Hands on the bed or on me,” Rex says with a grin, planting a quick kiss on his palm when Maul brushes his cheek. He sets them on the captain’s shoulders, looking down at him and suddenly he can breathe easily.

Rex starts moving again, slowly and deeply, and his hands settle on his rear, making him grind down. Maul lets out a small moan, throwing his head back.

“Yeah?” he asks in a rough rumble and Maul shivers, giving him a quick nod. Rex rolls his hips and groans. “You feel so good, kar’ika.” His hand takes hold of Maul, eliciting a relieved sigh and making his eyes close.

“Stay with me,” Rex whispers as a reminder. “Maul.” 

He sobs, eyes blinking open, and he cannot stop a whine from escaping again when he looks down at him. 

“I'm here,” Rex tells him, squeezing Maul's cock with a twist of his wrist, thumb playing with the crown. “Stay with me.”

“Cap—” he gasps when—

  
  
  
  


He does not know how much time has passed when he comes back to himself. He is on his stomach. He is still trembling. He cannot move.

He feels Rex planting a kiss on his shoulder blade; the captain radiates quiet happiness and satisfaction in the Force. Maul wants to hide his face in the pillow but refrains to do so when Rex cleans him with a wipe. His hands start roaming over Maul's back, kissing the skin, rough palms pressing on knots and tight muscles. 

“You did well,” the captain whispers and Maul should feel humiliated—being talked to like he is a pet, like he needs _reassurance_ and comfort. Oddly, it only prompts him to shiver and his body chases after Rex's touch, back arching whenever he cannot feel his fingers on his skin. “You were doing great.”

His breath hitches. The captain’s fingers run up his spine until his hand settles on his nape; he squeezes softly and says, “There you go. Relax—just like that.”

A whimper escapes him. The captain keeps kissing him, fingers touching and pressing and rubbing and kneading until Maul’s entire body understands that there is no need to tense or stay alert. 

“That's it—you're doing well,” Rex whispers and Maul chokes back a sob but is unable to stop the whine from escaping his throat. The captain kisses his nape; Maul feels his lips caressing his skin until he settles next to his ear and says, “You are so good for me.”

Maul shivers, flooded with pleasure once again. Rex lies down next to him, hand playing with his horns, tracing mindless patterns on his face. He smiles tiredly, pulls Maul against him until he can tuck his chin over Maul's head.

“My horns,” he mumbles as a reminder. The captain hums but does not move. “I will hurt you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rex says absently. “Just give me a minute, alright?”

Maul stays silent. The minute passes. He thinks he falls asleep in the captain's arms.

  
  
  
  
  



	24. Oba Diah III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing—I've been wondering if there's too much smut in this fic. I don't know how to explain it. I've been told it's not the case but it keeps bugging me. I didn't realize this was also technically a slow burn and maybe that's why. I don't know why but, in my head, explicit slow burn = one smut scene in the last chapters and that's it. Am I the only one?
> 
> Anyway—smut!
> 
> (trigger warnings in the end notes)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“The vacuum is already here. It’s only a matter of time before someone takes over,” Rex says. 

On the other end of the com, the defector sighs heavily. Maul is too interested by the captain’s chest hair to care about their conversation. There is a part of him that knows he has been avoiding specific topics with Rex on purpose. He knows this is only a temporary solution but it does not seem to bother him as much as it ought to. The feeling is back again—some sort of tightness in his throat that he cannot seem to get rid of. He tenses.

“—think the Senate would sanction something like that,” the captain says, his fingers sliding up from Maul’s shoulders to the crown of his head. Maul begins to hum in satisfaction and closes his eyes when he feels them play with his horns. 

“What’s that noise? Is that an engine? Are you driving right now?”

“Er.” Rex’s fingers still. Maul tilts his head to glare.

“No, that’s Maul,” Poe Dameron says. “Hello, by the way! How are you?”

“Fine,” Maul hears himself reply, then frowns when he realises he did. He pokes Rex’s fingers with his horns to startle them out their stillness. He hums in satisfaction when they move again.

“That’s great,” the Human says. “Oh, we wanted to know when you two would be available to come to the base.”

“Why?” Rex asks, tensing. “Is something wrong? Are the—”

“No, no, we’re all okay,” Poe Dameron says quickly. “It’s just that Finn and I want to celebrate our, uh, hang on, I learned the word… Our riduurok? We’d like to make it official now that the Republic’s doing better.”

Maul blinks. Before Rex can say anything, he asks, “Why would you need to make your partnership official? Are you not both Generals?”

“Uh, yeah,” the defector replies slowly. “I don’t—”

“We’re going after the Guavians,” the captain tells them. “I can’t promise you anything.”

He is tense. Maul does not understand why. There is nothing betraying him in his tone of voice but it is undeniable that Rex is uncomfortable. He ends the conversation more quickly than he usually would. Maul does not believe Poe Dameron or the defector may notice but he does. He can sense Rex’s unease.

“What happened,” he whispers, nuzzling his shoulder. Perhaps they should get out of bed. He does not want to. “Do you not agree with their union?”

“What? Of course I do,” the captain says with a snort. “Why wouldn't I? It seems great for them.”

“Then what is it?”

Rex stays silent, playing with his horns. Maul hums and closes his eyes, content in staying here doing nothing. It feels… odd but welcome. He could fall back asleep easily. A small part of him wants to. Since they landed on Oba Diah for the first time Maul has only slept soundly, even though he may have had trouble falling asleep. Rex’s fingers are making him doze off.

“It's almost midday,” the captain whispers. Maul slings an arm around his chest and pulls him more tightly against him, prompting Rex to chuckle; the sound resonates and disturbs their position so Maul nips his shoulder. “If you do this we're not leaving this bed anytime soon.”

He hums more loudly, nuzzling his neck. “I do not mind,” he admits. “You are very odd.”

Rex laughs abruptly. “I am,” he confirms. “Why am I this time, though?”

“Because—” He grins, teeth grazing Rex’s shoulder; the reaction is instantaneous. “You should be subdued when I bite you. You… do not… submit.”

“Oh but you do so beautifully,” the captain whispers quickly, pulling his head closer and almost forcing him to bite. Maul freezes at the same moment Rex tenses. “Er. I—shouldn't have said it like that. I just—Er.”

Maul stays silent. After half a minute of careful consideration, he nips the captain’s neck and tightens his hold on him. He can feel him shiver against him and hums more loudly in satisfaction. Since it doesn't have the desired effect, he licks the mark of a previous bite then sinks his teeth in it, growling low in his chest when he does.

Rex moans; his hand grips one of Maul’s horns harshly. He begins to squirm so Maul pins him to the bed with his leg, licks his skin and bites again.

“Ah,” the captain keens, hips thrusting instinctively. “Fierfek. Bite me harder,” he sobs. “Come on, come on—” 

Maul lets him writhe, teeth grazing his skin but he merely hovers. The captain growls. He is odd but Maul finds that he prefers his reactions to what is expected. He does not know if Poe Dameron and the defector’s partnership is similar to what theirs is but he has to say it feels more than just a good addition for bonding purposes. Although he is certain their bond evolves whenev—

“You either kriff me _now_ or I'm going to make sure you're not getting out of here until you do,” the captain snarls. 

Maul laughs. He pushes himself up and straddles his hips. He leans down then kisses him when Rex's comlink beeps.

“No, no,” the captain pleads. Maul strokes his chest with his knuckles in apology and takes the device in hand.

“Yes?” he replies, looking down at the captain, who is glaring at him.

“Uh. Hi, Maul,” Rose says slowly. He smiles even though she cannot see him.

“It is not my comlink,” he confirms, answering her silent question. “He can hear you.”

“Oh, good.” Her voice is odd. He glances at Rex and sees his frown. Maul is not the only one to sense her unease.

“What is it,” he asks. Rose sighs heavily; he and Rex tense. 

“The Guavian attacked Kessel. They weren't on their own.”

Rex curses, sitting up; his arm curls around Maul’s waist and he scowls. “The Hutts?” he asks.

“The Black Sun,” Rose says.

“The Black Sun? I thought they disbanded,” Rex mutters. He takes a deep breath and says, “Briefing in 15 minutes?”

“Sure. Should I tell Quan and Ranah?”

Maul frowns. Since when does she call Varrik by his first name?

“No. Not yet,” the captain rumbles. “I want to know what I'm up against before the Mand’alor hears about that.”

“Alright,” she says then discontinues the com. 

Rex curses again. “Another time then, yeah?” he says with a smile full of open regret. Maul snorts, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek; he goes willingly when Rex pulls him into a kiss, flipping them around so that Maul lies under him. The captain deepens their kiss, biting his bottom lip softly and whispers, “Do you trust me?”

Maul stills. He pushes Rex slowly so he can look at him. The captain seems uncertain—as if he is not sure what the answer may be. Maul frowns. He wants to say he does but does not know the right words in what he has come to see as Rex’s tongue, so he says, “Ni gar riduur.”

The captain inhales sharply. He strokes Maul's lower lip with his thumb and presses on it until his mouth opens willingly.

“Ner kar’ika,” the captain mutters. Ner; possessive–my, mine. Then he shakes his head and frowns. “I don't think you understand what ridu—” 

His comlink beeps again. Rex sighs heavily. When he answers, Ranah speaks at once. Maul does not understand a word she says. He suspects this language to be a variant of Mando’a. He needs to learn them both if he wants to be able to hold long conversations with her. It will not hurt to know more Mando’a to speak with Rex as well.

The captain points to what Maul infers is the refresher, standing up and gesturing at him to follow him.

Ranah hangs up on them when Maul steps out of the sonic; Rex grumbles something in a language that is neither one he understands nor Mando’a, using the depilatory once again. Maul needs to find moisturizer. And hide this when he does.

“Did Ithano teach you his first language,” he mutters sourly. Rex nods absently, touching his smooth chin. What a waste.

“Er, yeah. Bits here and there,” he replies. “He’s a good teacher.”

Of course he is. Ithano is great in everything he does—that has been perfectly understood. Maul leaves the refresher with a noncommittal hum. If he puts on clothes more brusquely than usual—well. No one is here to witness. He is going to fight Ithano next time they see him. He will find a reason. He will create one if needed. 

“You alright?” Rex asks, coming out of the refresher. Maul huffs but still nods silently. He will be. Ithano, on the other hand…

They join Rose quickly; when she sees them at first she gives Maul a small smile but stays silent. She turns on the hologram. There is a Pyke waiting for them; they bow as soon as they see Rex.

“My lord,” they say. 

“Rough estimate?” the captain demands. Maul places himself behind him.

“We lost three mines, my lord. Our workforce has been depleted; however, I think the Hutts would—”

The captain raises a clenched fist to silence them; the Pyke bows lower. “Were you the one in charge?” he mutters. The Pyke does not reply. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, my lord,” they whisper.

The captain nods; a smile crosses his face. “Who’s your second-in-command?”

“Dead, my lor—”

“I’m here as well,” a Kanjiklubber intervenes, appearing as a hologram.

Rex hums. “What’s your purpose?”

“Logistics, boss. I make sure the runners are all good. Help out in the mines when it’s need. I know the place well.”

Rex crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Alright. You’re in charge now. Kill them.”

The Pyke’s eyes flare before dimming once the Klubber blasts them. They fall out of the hologram’s range. Neither Maul nor Rose react—but he can sense shock from the Force coming from her and a swirl of emotions he cannot parse through from the captain. 

“You have five days,” Rex whispers softly. “When I comm, if the mines aren’t running, you’ll join the Pyke. Understood?”

The Klubber nods. “Yes, boss.” 

Rex smiles. “Good,” he rumbles, severing the connection. As soon as the hologram disappears, he looks at Rose and says, “Find what you can on the Black Sun. Reach Holo if needed and we’ll meet back in two hours.”

Rose nods then leaves just as quickly. Rex exhales loudly and his shoulders droop when they are on their own. Maul frowns, takes a step forward and asks, “What is it?”

“It’s too early,” Rex mutters. “If they destroy the mines and I don’t act, the Hutts will pull out. We can’t afford that if the Black Sun is coming back.” He shakes his head and swallows. “I just gave the order for slaves to be overworked more than they already are.”

There is nothing Maul can say that would soothe his mind. He takes another step forward. He curls his arms around him slowly and carefully, gauging if he should not, but Rex leans against him when he does. Maul closes his eyes and nuzzles the back of his head.

“You cannot save them all,” he mutters uselessly. 

Rex turns the scrambler off; the windows become clear again, giving them a view of the mountain crags.

“I know,” is the reply.

  
  
  
  


It takes them a couple of days to be certain but it appears the Black Sun survived the void left by the Empire contrary to their contemporaries. The Hutts are quick to put Rex’s authority in jeopardy, considering the mines had not been attacked in decades. They spend the days asserting the captain’s dominion over spooked warlords while preparing themselves for a blockade of Guavian Space. Maul goes to sleep with Rex every evening—something that does not occur to him until Rose says, “Maybe you should take your stuff there. Or at least clothes.” 

“Will you be—” he falls abruptly silent when he realises how condescending his question is. Rose laughs.

“Don't worry about me, stinky.”

“I see I was downgraded to ‘‘stinky’, now.” How appalling. He huffs. It only makes Rose laugh more loudly. “Please tell me you are not joining Varrik for dinner.”

“I am,” she says with a shrug. “He's got good cooking skills, you know. Nothing like Poe’s but it's definitely better than yours.”

“I have never cooked for you.”

“Oh, I don't need that to know.”

Maul scoffs then rolls his eyes. “See if I ever will,” he mumbles.

Rose giggles. “See it that way—if you do then I'll have to cook for you too and we'd both like to live a little while longer, so… It's a non-zero sum game.”

“Varrik?” he cannot help but ask with a confused frown. She shakes her head.

“Could be a friend but nothing more. He's not my type.” Maul hums neutrally. “Rex, on the other hand…”

He looks at her but says nothing. When she bursts into giggles he frowns.

“I'm sorry,” she says. She does not sound sorry at all. “You should've seen your face.”

He huffs but still puts his chin on top of her head when she embraces him. He spends the rest of the afternoon trying not to snarl too much at the Imperator who keeps pestering him with unveiled questions about Rex’s upcoming decisions concerning Kessel until he's had enough. He dismisses her with a single glance and goes to find Rex. He finds him easily—he is in front of the holotable he claimed as his private one, as he has been for days.

“Any progress?” he asks when he comes in. The captain hums.

“Maybe. Let me show you.”

He gives him a rundown of their resources—what they have, what they need and what they can do without. He explains what they must take into account, what a blockade means for them and how they need to do it under the Senate’s radar, how they need to be prepared in case the Hutts switch sides and what must be done if Oba Diah becomes a target. 

Rex is, as he always is when his mind is fully committed to a challenging task, breathtaking. Maul sees the slight downturn of his mouth and wants to kiss it; he watches his eyebrows raise and wants to commit the view to memory, his to revisit whenever he wants. His hearts drum in a faster rhythm when the captain's eyes narrow and it becomes difficult not to stare at his hands and shiver when he plays with the hologram to get what he wants.

“And you’re not listening.” Rex frowns, shaking his head.

“No,” Maul confirms. No need to lie. He has no idea what Rex was talking about.

And there—a slight downturn of his mouth, head minutely tilting to the side, eyes narrowing—the captain blinks, swallows instinctively and rasps, “What is it?” Maul cannot sense it but it is clear Rex is worried, probably already parsing through potential issues and coming up with solutions. “I missed something, didn't I,” he mutters in concentration. To see him calculate the best escape routes, eyes running over charts and algorithms, is already… challenging. But when this gaze is directed at him...

Mauk stops himself from twitching. “You are very beautiful,” he admits. “It can be… distracting.”

Rex blinks. For a fraction of a second, his eyes widen and he freezes. The reaction dies as quickly as it came to life, replaced by a series of facial expressions—his mouth opens and closes multiple times, his eyebrows cannot seem to settle on one reaction, and his eyes widen, narrow, and blink but they never leave Maul's face.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks. It has been almost a minute now and Rex has yet to say anything. 

“Er. I, er—yeah,” the captain rasps, clearing his throat; his hand comes to obstruct half of his face from Maul's view. No. This will not do. Maul takes his hand, slowly lowers it until he can fully see him again. He hums in satisfaction. “What were you saying?”

Rex blinks then he looks back at the hologram, eyes sliding over it, mind blooming once again thanks to his careful gaze. He frowns in thought, perhaps seeing something, a connection he did not make before, and Maul’s breath hitches. Beautiful indeed.

The captain speaks. He has no idea what he is saying. He suspects Rex knows it but is graceful enough not to call him up on it. He glances back at Maul from time to time and one corner of his mouth twitches into a quick smile every time afterwards, but he keeps talking and pointing at specific zones representing… something. Perhaps Maul should let go of the hand he holds. He finds that he does not want to so he keeps it in his. After a while, Rex’s thumb begins drawing mindless patterns on the back of his hand. Neither of them says anything.

The Force is quiet now, indifferent to what they are doing. He finds the sensation soothing. He takes a step closer to Rex and whispers in his ear, “May I ride you tonight?” They did not have time these past few days but perhaps if he submits the idea now they may find some later. He would very much like to have Rex inside him while he explains to him everything Maul has missed so far. He shivers even thinking about it.

The captain freezes mid-sentence. He blinks in quick succession and his mouth stays open, forming words he does not utter. Maul kisses him below his ear and calls, “Captain?”

“What,” Rex chokes out, coughing and clearing his throat. “Could you. Er.” He shifts. “Can you repeat. What you said.”

Maul does not say anything. After a moment, Rex twitches again. He seems to have entirely forgotten about the hologram.

“What did you say?” the captain asks again, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Since Maul stays silent, he turns off the holotable and hums. After a couple of seconds he says, “You have nothing to do now, right?”

Maul tilts his head. “No,” he confirms slowly. Rex grins. “Why?”

“We need to eat. And rest,” he adds with a small nod to himself. “I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to pass out like that.”

Maul blinks. “I…” Suddenly he feels awkward. “Did I faint on top of you?”

Rex's face says everything.

“Wait, it's not—” The captain chuckles awkwardly. “It's okay; it was surprising at first but, er. I take it as a, er, compliment? Er.” He clears his throat. “Maybe it's a Zabrak thing—I don't know. But… just in case it isn't.”

Maul nods slowly. “You want me to eat in case I may faint again.”

Rex’s eyes widen. “Er. Yeah?” He shakes his head. “I can cook. I'll cook. Just… Yeah?”

Well. He is not going to miss the opportunity of good food—and he will be able to brag about it to Rose. 

“Very well,” he hears himself say. It is the right thing to say since Rex smiles, his eyes softening.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Maul is slicing some kind of vegetable like the captain showed him to when he senses the conversation is being subtly stirred towards a specific topic he tries to avoid.

Rex is… skillful, would be the right term. Maul is certain he has been delicately breaching on topics just to wager how much leniency he could get for at least half an hour—and Maul only noticed a minute ago. 

“The Force is with you,” the captain says nonchalantly then shrugs. His eyes glance towards him. “It's a part of you. Isn't it?”

Maul tenses. This is a trap. Rex turns around, leaning against the counter and his smile does not reach his eyes.

“It's a trap,” the captain confirms and for an instant Maul raises his mental shields even though he knows it is useless. “I don't know if we do it on purpose but we never really talk. And I—” He clears his throat. “I think it's safe to say you are, er. You are important. To me. To the galaxy as well, but—”

Maul stands up. Rex falls silent. After a moment, he calls, “Kar’ika—”

“No,” he replies brusquely, jaw clenching. “Say what you have to say.”

“I’m worried,” Rex states, crossing his arms over his chest. “I haven't seen you use the Force yet. Even in crucial moments. I'm worried because I'm not sure why.”

Maul stays silent. Rex sighs.

“I was the first person you saw after…” He lets out a shaky breath that could count as a laugh but the frown on his face confuses Maul. “I’m the first person you saw after you were decanted. You wanted to kill me on the spot and now—” 

He falls silent, rubbing his chin and averting his gaze.

“I do not want to anymore,” Maul tells him. 

The captain chuckles. “I know—I hope,” he mutters. He looks at him again and asks, “Can you sit down with me?”

There is something—about his eyes, or perhaps the tilt of his mouth—something Maul does not understand. He wants to walk away. He wants to leave. He does not want to have this conversation even if he is not sure _why_ or even _what_ this conversation is. He takes a step back; something crosses Rex’s face and his expression immediately morphs into something deliberately unreadable. Maul does not try to sense him through the Force. He has no doubt he would simply hit a wall. 

“Why,” he asks, sensing how tense he has become, the beginning of a snarl forming in his throat. He does not leave. He does not know why and it enrages him. “Why,” he repeats, baring his teeth.

“That’s why,” Rex whispers with a sad smile.

Maul startles. He did not realise he was growling. He takes another step back and stares at the floor in confusion. Why is he angry? 

“I do not understand,” he snarls. He starts pacing. The captain does not move.

“I've karked up,” Rex says. “With you. From the beginning. I don't want to see it but I know I did.” His jaw clenches. “And I think you know it too.”

“No,” he says at once. “I do not want—” His throat closes up. He bares his teeth in warning except the captain does not move.

“You can go,” Rex says. 

“You do not decide for me,” he snarls. “I do not want—” His throat closes up again. He growls in anger and storms out.

He still ends up in Rex’s room and seethes when he realises this; he paces and he has trouble breathing. He looks around, tries to calm himself down. The windows are closed. The curtains are not drawn. He can see the mountain crags. The room’s entire decor is awful. There is a pair of blacks laying haphazardly on one of the seats. He does not know if he threw it there or if Rex did. The bed is unmade. The door to the refresher has been left ajar. The floor under his feet is covered by the same type of carpets that covers the walls in Rose’s quarters. His hands are shaking. 

“No,” he growls. Not again. His breathing quickens despite his efforts. “No,” he growls again.

The door opens; Rex comes in. Maul takes a step back and his calf hits something.

He does not know what happens afterwards. He blinks and at once he is crouching, gasping and panting quickly, hands clutching at his horns, staring at the floor but not seeing it. Rex is kneeling in front of him, purposefully radiating calm in the Force. Like he does for the defector. Maul wants to yell in rage but he cannot stop himself from breathing heavily.

“Kar’ika,” the captain whispers. “Breathe with me.” 

Easier said than done, he wants to snarl but even this seems impossible. Why can he not control his body? He used to be able to—

With his original body. Not this one. No matter how hard he tries to control it, it seems he cannot achieve a simple task. 

“Breathe with me.”

“I cannot breathe,” he gasps. When Rex tries to touch him he flinches away and gets up, walking backwards until he hits the window leading outside. He turns around and stares at the mountain crags until he feels in control again. He does not know how much time passes. His hands stop shaking. His breathing pattern slows down. After a while he feels almost like himself again. He closes his eyes for five seconds, opens them back again and says, “I do not want to—”

It hits him. Maul is afraid. And he knows why. “I do not want to be consumed by anger,” he says, reeling from the revelation. He gasps, shaking his head. “I do not want to remember.” He hears careful, deliberately loud footsteps behind him coming closer. “I do not want to—I do not want to feel like this again.” It takes time but Rex's chin settles on his shoulder; his arms snake around his waist. Maul looks down at the crossed hands on his stomach and suddenly he can breathe easily again. He focuses on the hands and stops his thoughts from stirring back towards—

“The Force is a part of you,” the captain mutters, kissing his the back of his head. “You can't deny a part of yourself, Maul.”

“You misunderstand,” he snaps. “I do not wish to—” He closes his mouth abruptly and stares straight ahead. He does not finish his sentence. After a long moment spent in silence, Rex kisses the crook of his neck.

“We have time,” he simply says. Maul closes his eyes in shame.

“I want to forget,” he admits, guilt eating at him. He is not ashamed of who he is. He is not ashamed of what he has done. He knows who he is. He will never regret who he is. “Just for now.” Rex’s arms tighten around his waist. Maul shivers. He turns his head so his lips brush Rex’s cheek. “Make me forget,” he whispers.

The captain turns him around then pushes him down on one of the seats in the blink of an eye. He deposits him carefully and places him between his legs, staring at him with an expression he does not understand.

“I fear I cannot live without you,” Maul confesses, hand settling on his cheek, fingertips brushing his hair. He pulls him down until Rex is bending and holding himself up on the armrests. “Why is that?” he asks as Rex looks at him, pupils making fast repetitive movements, right to left, up and down. He is memorising his face like he does a holomap. “I am afraid to forget the way you look. I am afraid I will forget your voice,” Maul continues, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He touches the captain’s lips, marvels at the way they part around his thumb. 

“If you ever decide to kill me, I fear I will forgive you,” Maul whispers. He pulls him down, wants him to be closer and brushes their lips together. “I would let you kill me if it meant I could have you forever,” he confesses, the truth burning his tongue. When Rex kisses him languidly, he moans and feels like his life is slowly getting drained out of him. 

“I do not understand,” he hisses across his lips, feeling lost, angry and afraid. “What have you done to me?” Rex nips his chin, mouths his jaw. Maul arches his neck, has the sensation that he is giving himself piece by piece and cannot stop. The captain licks his skin like he owns it. 

“Why are you the source of my greatest fears?” Maul asks.

“I’m sorry,” is all Rex says and Maul’s throat constricts, words he cannot form trying to escape his mouth. He lets his hands drop down on his thighs, palms facing the ceiling for fear of hiding his face in a gesture of apparent weakness. They clench, with nothing to hold but air. When Rex picks him up to take him to their bed, Maul does not protest.

The captain deposits him carefully, hands circling his wrists; he pushes them further up the sheets where he wants them, then presses on his palms and tangles their fingers together until Maul’s hands are his own, forcing them to close down around his. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, burying their hands in the sheets, nipping his ear.

“Show me,” Maul commands, a plea disguised as a demand, shame filling him. 

Rex devours him. For a moment, all Maul can think about is Rex, a litany of praises and dreams, and he doesn't try to stop himself when all he can hear is his own voice pleading, asking again and again for him, only him, a series of Rex, Rex, Rex, _Rex—_

He takes him apart, piece by piece, then rebuilds him the way he sees fit and Maul lets him. “I’m sorry,” the captain whispers, fingers branding him with possessive brushes. _You have nothing to be sorry for,_ he wants to reply but the words never form in his mouth, easy yet unattainable like many things in his life. How ironic.

“I’m sorry,” Rex repeats, slicked fingers twisting inside him and Maul throws his head back and gasps. The captain kisses the side of his neck, hand moving in a languid rhythm, his strokes eliciting shivers from Maul and when he brushes there, yes, there, again, Maul finds he cannot stop himself from moaning. Rex kisses him, swallowing each sound he gives him, lips claiming everything they touch, and Maul lets him.

“I’m sorry,” the captain repeats, against his lips, his horns, his skin. “I’m sorry,” he confesses in a breathless gasp when he enters him. He says the words, again and again, guilt evident in his voice.

Maul’s hand settles on the captain’s back and he plants his nails; Rex thrusts harder. He revels in the reaction—he cranes his neck, feeling sparks throughout his spine, hit with a wave of pleasure and he sobs in victory. Maul puts everything to memory, to treasure as some of his most prized possessions. 

“You are mine,” he says in his captain’s ear, a statement out of breath followed by a luxurious moan. He does not need to hear the responding _yes_ to know the truth in it. He puts his hands in Rex’s hair and tugs. A brutal thrust—Maul gasps and his body shivers. “You are mine,” he repeats, the words whispered on his captain’s cheek. He nips at his ear and growls, “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Rex says immediately, panting, eyes desperate and hungry. “I’m yours,” he repeats frantically with a languid thrust that makes him arch his back. Maul hooks his legs around his waist, fingers teasing his own nipples and his captain’s eyes widen at the display. He pulls him closer, his fingers finding a rhythm that suits him, and his hips make lazy, rolling motions. He sighs, kissing the sensitive skin of Rex’s neck and bites him softly, knowing how much a simple gesture affects his captain. Rex does not disappoint; putting his arms behind Maul’s thighs, he lifts him slightly and begins thrusting hard and fast. Maul’s jaw goes slack; he cranes his neck and he can feel his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He thinks his vocal cords are vibrating but he has no idea if he is speaking or not, if the sounds he lets out transform into words or, rather, if he is simply moaning with each thrust shaking his core. His captain kisses his neck feverishly; he can feel Rex is struggling, panting heavily, and his thrusts are becoming erratic. “Maul—”

Why does his name sound different when Rex says it?

Maul blinks a couple of times then stares at him. Rex is frowning, eyes closed in concentration, a drop of sweat sliding down his neck. One of his hands settles on his captain’s chest and goes from his collarbone to his face at a leisurely pace; his thumb grazes his cheek and, when his captain blinks, Maul nods at him and whispers his name. “Rex,” he gasps, followed by a sob that turns into a long, drawn out whine he cannot stop from escaping. It does not take more than that—the captain climaxes with a choked groan accompanied by impulsive thrusts. 

Maul is shaking because of the new rhythm, so close to falling over the edge that it does not take more than his captain’s uncoordinated hand sneaking between them to bring him to completion; he whines, a full-body shiver overtaking him, and the wave does not seem to stop, Rex pumping and draining him until the last drop and he feels like all of his energy has been sucked out of him. His arms stop his captain from moving away when he pulls out, forcing him to put his weight on top of him. They both pant, messy and tired, and Maul’s mind is blissfully blank while his body is still shaken by small tremors. 

After long minutes spent in silence, Rex grunts, putting his hands on each side of him to push himself off. Maul lets him; his captain sits back on his calves and watches him from above, taking one of his hands in his own, intertwining their fingers, and he looks at Maul’s hand like it is something he has never seen before. He watches it from every angle as if to find some kind of default to fix. Maul is confused.

“What is wrong with my hand?” he asks, his fingers twitching. Rex’s eyes slide to his face in surprise. He blinks for a couple of times then his face transforms. Maul finds breathing more difficult.

“Nothing,” he says, squeezing it, and he smiles the way he does when he is satisfied. “It’s perfect.”

He huffs in reply and averts his gaze. He knows for a fact that it is _not—_ if it truly were, then he would not have so much trouble cooking an edible meal. Clearly, his hands could be improved. He wants to say as much but he sees the way his captain looks at him and decides not to. Not everything needs to be argued.

“I did not faint,” Maul says pointedly.

Rex stares at him for a moment, blinking, then he raises their hands to his mouth and laughs.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: anxiety, panic attack
> 
> If you don't know much about Mando'a, there's one thing that I haven't said before but it's actually kinda important: riduur does _not_ mean associates or partner. It's actually Mando'a for 'spouse'. So, yeah, Ranah and Varrik are siblings so they're not riduur but that doesn't mean riduur = business partner or whatever Maul thinks that means. you may think the bean is a bit dense and you'd be correct.
> 
> Although, consider: I lived in France for a year when I was a teenager and thought 'pote' was another word for 'significant other' (like 'copain/copine' which, depending on context, can either be 'a friend' or 'my bf/gf'). 'Pote' is lit rally just 'buddy/pal/friend'. When I moved in France once again last year I introduced my partner everywhere we went saying 'c'est mon pote (this is my pal)' and no one batted an eye. I did that. for m o n t h s 🙃


	25. Naboo, 38 ABY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! My computer crashed on Friday when I was making my last edit on ao3 and 🙃 I lost this entire chapter,,,,and since I'm very Smart(tm) the Doc was already in the trash. google decided it was the Right Time to be a punk so I couldn't even access the previous versions. Anyway, I had to rewrite this and it was very difficult to remember everything and be careful of the timeline (I wrote that chapter around November/December iirc) so it took time,,,but it's here!
> 
> (trigger warnings in the end notes)

  
  
  
  
  
  


“You cannot go,” Maul says through clenched teeth—because apparently Rex still thinks he can. “They will expect you to.” 

The captain frowns. They have been arguing for the past hour. Maul is right and they both know it but it does not stop Rex from trying to get his own way. Which will not happen, as they both know. And yet.

“I’m not going to stay here doing nothing,” he growls, as if this was not the fifth time they went over this.

Maul stares but stays silent. He must remember he is not angry with him. It is becoming increasingly more difficult. He knows enough to see that confronting him will only result in chaos but it does not mean he will avoid it. If Rex keeps being stubborn then Maul will do what must be done—and unfortunately both of them are aware of the fact. 

A blockade on Guavian Space means every refueling station outside its borders must keep their word and force the Guavian to restrict themselves. Fortunately for Rex, the Hutts control the majority of them—and what they did not the Pykes now do. Access to fuel, food and basic necessities has become highly difficult simply because Rex surrounds them and will do as such until they submit. It is purposely insulting and there is no doubt the Guavian know. However, it has been two months and no attack on the Pykes has been recorded; the Hutts are perfectly happy to assert their dominion more forcefully than they have in decades and Kanjiklub thrives now that spice running is not slowed down by extortion and theft.

Hence the Guavian’s message asking for discussion. A planet shy of their Space with low level activity—no fight, no resistance, simply a chance to discuss the terms of their partnership. It is a trap. An obvious one, even, and they all know it—yet Rex still wants to go.

“Let me go,” Maul says once again. “I will be there on your behalf. You need not be physica—”

“No.”

Maul closes his mouth and seethes in silence. He stills, realisation dawning on him. His eyes slide to Rex and he stares at him in silence. The captain's entire frame is tense; he is looking outside at the mountain crags, even though Maul knows perfectly well he hates them as much as he himself finds them soothing. Rex is avoiding his gaze.

“You do not want me to go on my own,” Maul says out loud. The lack of reaction is damning. “I see.”

Is it surprising? It should not be. His original self has a history of seizing power when the opportunity presented itself—or even creating said opportunity when it did not. It is exactly why Poe Dameron is wary, why Rose is here and, it seems, why Rex does not want Maul to go without him.

“No, you don't,” the captain whispers. His back relaxes and his shoulders rise up when he takes a deep breath. “It's not what you think.”

Maul huffs. “Enlighten me, then,” he says, his voice close to a snarl. He feels empty—he does not want to know why—and it is easy to fill the void with anger. He can do it as easily as breathing. The captain turns around; he is frowning. When he walks closer, Maul knows what he will do and he stiffens.

“Kar’ika,” he calls and Maul steps back.

“No,” he growls. Rex falters. “Do not try to change my mind by appealing to—” 

He falls silent when he sees shock on the captain's face. Maul suppresses a flinch. He knows the expression that follows and he does not want it. Rex’s eyes widen minutely and—there, a slight echo of pain and guilt that is smothered quickly and replaced by nothingness. The captain nods, face now impassive. Maul hates this sudden denial; he hates that he knows why Rex does it and he hates that he is secretly grateful for it. It happened again—misunderstanding and miscommunication because no matter how hard he tries Maul does not always understand what Rex means. 

Kar’ika is a word that encompasses so many meanings, some more likely to make an appearance in their conversation, some decidedly too out of place. Most of the time, Maul prides himself on understanding what it means—a need to establish that this is Rex as himself speaking, not the captain, the shadow king or the clone; a suggestion for Maul to listen to what he says before making a decision; a command to calm down and focus on him rather than the world around them or the whirlwind within Maul’s self. There are some meanings that he cherishes more than others. He has come to crave Kar’ika uttered as a soft whisper on his skin in the evening before they fall asleep, as a muted chuckle when he tries to help him out in the kitchen, as a cut off grunt when they spar and as a hungry, lustful moan when they are alone. 

“I don't want you to go on your own,” Rex admits calmly. “I know it's a trap. I'm not trying to say otherwise—and that's why I don’t want you there alone.”

“Ranah and Varrik will come as well,” Maul reminds him. The captain scoffs.

“I don't trust them.” Well. Maul does not either. “I don't care who will be there if _I_ am not. You could take Ithano and even then it wouldn't change a thing.”

Ah. “But you would let him go on his own,” he infers. Rex blinks.

“Er, yeah,” he says slowly. “He’s not you, obviously.”

Maul hums. “Obviously,” he repeats with a nod. “Obviously. You trust _him_ to go on his own—but not me.”

“What? No. That’s not—”

“I will go while you stay here,” Maul dismisses, leaving the room. He walks away without glancing back, a sour taste in his throat threatening to invade his mouth.

Jealousy is a feeling he knows all too well—but he does not understand why _Ithano,_ of all people, seems to be the one to extract it out of a deep well inside him that Maul sealed off almost a year ago. He knows that jealousy blinds him—contrary to the array of emotions his Master taught him to feed and feed upon, there is nothing to find in jealousy. It is hunger, unending and never to be satisfied; Maul starves for what he cannot have or cannot be. A long time ago he used to slither through the underlevels of Coruscant just to catch a glimpse of whom he considered the most invasive disease in the galaxy. He would observe the Jedi roaming the land as if they owned it, as if they never felt fear to be discovered and punished for it—and he _knew_ they would never understand what fear felt like, what an acquired taste it is, to feel yourself defenceless knowing you are too weak to protect yourself. He was jealous of their ignorance. The feeling did not even feed his hunger—it only crippled him and made him grow reckless and foolish.

A concealed part of him misses what used to be. The galaxy felt easier to understand; the lines were clear and Maul understood his place, why he was here and what was his purpose. He has none now. It is… disgusting to realise how much he misses his life from before now that he is free. Pathetic perhaps would be a better word. He has longed for freedom for his entire life and, now that he needs not to anymore, he misses the relatively false sense of safety he feels he had before.

“Maul,” is the call that makes him halt in his steps. He straightens and smiles, a resigned huff leaving his nostrils. “We’re not done.”

“Are you ordering me to stay,” he asks loudly, careful not to reveal any inflection. He turns around when he senses him approaching. “Is this what you want, captain? For me to stay here so as to prevent a coup?”

“What? No,” Rex says with a frown, stopping in front of him. “That’s not—not at all. It’s not about that; it’s about you going there without backup.”

“Ithano does not need backup but _I_ do?”

“Ithano has his crew.” Rex scoffs. “We don’t. We only have each other and Rose. And she’s not going there.”

“No,” Maul agrees easily then blinks. He looks at the captain with confusion and says, “I will be alright.”

“How can you know that?” Rex retorts immediately in a whisper, stepping forward. “You don’t—” He shakes his head. “I’m going with you.”

“It would be reckless and you know it,” Maul sneers. “How can you fail to see how illogical it—”

“Oh, I know. I just don’t care.” Maul falls silent. This does not make sense—not coming from him. He looks at the captain and sees him shrug with a smile. “My General was Anakin Skywalker, you know. We wouldn’t always choose what seemed to be the logical choice. Fierfek, I’m a soldier who became a pirate who now leads the Hutts. Logic isn’t always my thing.”

Maul stares at him and stops himself from sighing. “Do you not trust me,” he whispers, trying an alternative to bargain. When he is pulled into a kiss, he closes his eyes. Rex tells him without words what Maul thought may not be true and for a moment he forgets his anger and everything else. 

“I do,” the captain confirms across his lips. “What I don’t trust is all the rest.” He sighs and leans away. “What does the Force tell you?”

Maul averts his gaze. “Nothing,” he admits. “It is mostly indifferent to anything I do.” Or him, for that matter. It is… still strange. He has been used to having to fight with it constantly, knowing not taming it or having control over it could be his undoing. The Force has always been an ally but a dangerous one. Without it, he would not be free—but if he were to lose control then it would consume him until freedom no longer held meaning. 

It was also a heady sensation—power at his fingertips, veins coursing with pleasure and promises for anything he could desire. He remembers what it felt like; mastering it meant his body became a vessel of dominance, power and control. It also meant he had to give pieces of himself in exchange for strength and he realises now that after years of Force training his thoughts were not always entirely his own. Maul was as much a slave to his emotions as he was to his Master—and he has come to see the way the Force treats him now as explanation for his clarity of mind. He may not have control over his body but his thoughts are his own; what he feels is what others around feel rather than what they _could_ if he were to intervene. He does not see potential or opportunities anymore, which renders him blind to many parameters, but he feels less in a constant struggle for control. At least, not for his mind.

Maul dips his head and hovers closer, not quite touching the captain but he can feel the heat emanating from him and he breathes easily again. “Let me go, Rex,” he whispers. “Without you.”

“Mau—”

“Trust me,” he mutters, looking him in the eye. He can see how the captain is struggling but he stops himself from humming—he already knows he won. 

“Fine,” Rex says, even though he does not sound nor look convinced at all. Maul smiles, knowing it will prompt Rex to smile—and it does. “Are you taking your gunship or do you want something else?”

“Are you going to give me a Star Cruiser, captain?”

Rex chuckles. “I just might.”

  
  
  
  


Thankfully he does not and they take the gunship to the edge of Guavian Space. All the Heads are here but one—Isla Tik, sister to Bala Tik and the Head whose business resides mostly in selling weapons to the highest bidder, as her brother did before his death. It would be easy to kill them all and they must know it. 

“Where's your leader,” one of the Heads snarls, the helmet distorting their voice—but from what Maul can gather they wear a rebreather. Not Human from the body shape and potentially not oxygen-breather. 

“Will the Pykes keep following him if you die?” another asks and Maul feels the shift in the Force. Half of them, he would wager. Judging how Ranah tenses, he gathers she sees it as well.

Maul hums, taking his staff and igniting both blades without preamble. “How would you like to die?” he asks calmly. “Under her blaster or my staff?”

“E chu ta, lapti bukee,” one of the Heads that remained silent says, drawing a blaster. Maul hums.

“My staff, then,” he mutters, baring his teeth in a grin. 

  
  


He is grazed by a blaster bolt; there are six Heads remaining and their goons triple their numbers. In the midst of chaos, Maul sees Ranah falling down on the ground and snarls. Kadavo was harsher and yet he struggles more now—he feels the tendrils of the Force taunting him and it becomes more difficult to resist. Rex is not here. He must not consider this as a fight with allies but as a fight on his own. Just as it did when he started attacking the Zygerrians, the Force stirs and suddenly he can feel its interest; power kisses his fingertips and silent promises run over his skin. He could become so much more with just one more step—one single leap of faith and Maul would open the gates. 

He resists. A silent part of himself screams in rebellion; this is not what they were made to do. Why resist when it's against their nature to do as such? Maul slashes through another Head and growls. Does the defector know how tempting it is to let go and welcome darkness in his heart? 

Three Heads remaining. The goons are dead. Next to him he can see Ranah unconscious on the ground; jet black hair and horns greet him so he averts his gaze. 

“Would you like to join our ranks?” he asks calmly. The Heads do not resist. “Unfortunate.”

Maul kills them in two swift motions. The Guavian know not what submission means. Now they will. He takes a deep breath and deactivates his staff. All dead but him and his Mandalorian companions, who are both unconscious. A couple of steps and he crouches, taking Ranah’s helmet; he places it back to its rightful place while staring at the horizon. She stirs so he places a hand on her arm and squeezes, muttering, “We won.” She sighs and loses consciousness right after.

Her brother’s helmet is in place, not that it matters, and he looks in better shape. It seems he took the stun aimed at Maul. Why the Guavian would want to take him alive is baffling; were they expecting some kind of bargain? Leave us alone and we will give you back your right hand? How foolish.

He comms Rex.

“What happened?” the captain asks immediately when he sees him, a worried frown on his face. “You're injured.”

“I am,” Maul says, seeing no reason to lie. “A simple graze. The Mandalorians will be fine.” He thinks. The med droid will know better. “Most of the Heads are dead but Isla Tik was not here.”

“She's the clever one,” Rex mutters, crossing his hands behind his back, eyes looking down at what Maul infers to be either algorithms or a holomap. “We'll find her. The Space is Kanjiklub’s now.”

“You mean yours.”

Rex huffs. “Yeah. It's mine.” He grimaces. “Spice running will be easier to reach the Deep Core from there.”

“What about Kijimi?”

“No, they're loyal to the Pykes,” the captain dismisses. His eyes slide to him. “Come back now.”

“Is this an order, captain?”

Rex smirks. “I miss you,” he whispers innocently.

Maul blinks. “I am on my way,” he hears himself say, hearts hammering against his ribcage. He turns off his comm and looks around. Varrik’s helmet is facing him; the man is crouched over his sister, ready to pull her up and carry her to the ship. They go without exchanging words.

Mild concussion according to the emdee. Varrik frowns. “Do not take her helmet off,” he snaps to the droid once again. Maul says nothing. When he pulls them to hyperspace he sighs, closing his eyes for an instant.

The stun is unexpected and startles him only when it is too late; his eyes open in surprise and he only sees blue, blue, blue and feels no one on the ship but him, Varrik and Ranah. His vision blurs and suddenly nothing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Mandʻalor gar alor, tat,” he hears Varrik hiss in the background over Ranah's voice before falling back into darkness again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Wake him up.”

Maul hisses when he feels the electric buzz running from his wrists to his arms. He bares his teeth. He has trouble focusing on anything; he has to close his eyes, nausea hitting him sharply. He tastes bile in his mouth but no blood. No blow that he can feel. He opens his eyes again and tries to focus on the shape before him.

“Hello, Maul,” the Mandalore says, her expressionless helmet taunting him. “Long time no see.”

He does not reply. The room around them is dark and damp.

“I am going to ask nicely first. Where is Ezra Bridger?”

They must be underground. Gravity is a bit heavy on his bones so it is unlikely they are off planet. From what he remembers reading, Mandalore should be lighter for his body. Somewhere else, then. Krownest, perhaps—if he remembers correctly, it is where the Mandalore’s Clan House resides.

“Do your people know I am here,” he whispers, eyes sliding to her. He has trouble focusing on her. He is heavily impaired—and he is certain it cannot be only due to the stun. When he tries to reach out to the Force, he feels nothing. He tries not to flinch. He is on his own.

“They say you're a clone,” she muses, walking closer. “I don't doubt it—but I know you know more than you admit.” She takes off her helmet and stares at him with a crooked smile. Her hair is shockingly white and the scar on her face only adds to her aura. She does look the part of the Mandalore. “I know about your little secret on Dathomir.”

Maul does not react. He cannot feel the Force. He blinks, tries to have his eyes stop trying to roll to the back of his skull. Is he upside down or is he simply too impaired? The Mandalore twirls a stun baton in front of him and her eyes narrow.

“Does your captain know about your secret?” she asks in a whisper, knowing fully well he does not. The snarl on her face implies vicious delight but her eyes seem conflicted. “How do you think he’d react? Would he still sleep beside you every night?”

Maul stays silent. He tries to reach out to the Force but he has little hope it will reach back.

“What about Rose Tico? Do you think she'd look at you the same way?” She lights her baton and sniffs. “Do you think she'd come to your rescue?”

Maul scowls before he can stop himself but says nothing. The Mandalore grins. He is not upside down but his limbs are spread and shackled. There is no doubt in his mind any attempt to escape will result in electric shocks.

“If I tell Varrik to lead her here,” she whispers. “Do you think she’ll realize this is a trap?”

He snarls, fighting against the restraints just to see her react. When she suppresses a flinch, he bares his teeth in a grin and growls. “Watch your words, Mandalore,” he warns. “I will not hesitate to kill you.” 

“Go on, then,” she taunts softly. “Use the Force. Give me a reason to put you down for good.”

Mau’s body relaxes. As long as she forgets about Rose, he does not care. He chuckles to annoy her and tries to lean closer, whispering, “if you do this, how can you learn what I know about Ezra?”

The Mandalore stills. Maul laughs. He tries to reach out one last time—to no avail.

“I know pain won’t break you. The Empire had other means to make Force-sensitives talk,” she says then turns back, walking away. Maul tenses despite himself. “And I won’t hesitate to use them on you.”

He does not know how long he stays on his own. He cannot see anything, which is alarming. The only sounds he hears are his own—his breathing becomes so loud even when he tries to control it he can still hear it. He tries to meditate; when he does, he feels a jolt from his wrists to his back. He is watched, then.

Once the interrogator droid arrives, time becomes even more difficult to track. He does not feel pain but he hears and sees shadows, things that cannot be here and that cannot be real. Maul focuses on his anger and shuts himself off. It does not work. 

Most of the time if he is on his own he cannot say whether he is conscious or not.

“Where is Ezra Bridger?” the Mandalore keeps asking, not waiting for an answer.

“I do not know,” he keeps repeating, even though she does not listen to him.

“Where is Ezra Bridger?” the Mandalore keeps asking, not caring about what he says.

“I do not know,” he promises, knowing it does not matter.

He thinks he is hungry. Perhaps it is thirst. Perhaps it is what they injected him with. His hands keep spasming and he is unable to breathe for one, two, three, fifteen, nine, seven seconds and he cannot see in the dark. He forgot to build up his resistance to most common poisons. His teeth keep chattering and he is unable to…

“Where is Ezra Bridger?”

“Who is Ezra,” he answers, the words slurring despite his efforts. He receives no answer.

He lacks clarity and has no idea how long he has been here. It is funny so he laughs. He thinks the Mandalore has forgotten him. He spent a lot of time deprived of his senses when he was younger. Perhaps he did as well when he was older. Does Ezra Bridger know what it feels like?

“Where is Ezra Bridger?” the Mandalore asks when she returns. Maul laughs.

“I do not know,” he whispers. “I do not know.”

He thinks he is talking to himself.

A long time ago when he was still growing his master locked him inside a room with no light and no sound, leaving him with his thoughts and his cries. He remembers the echoes and the smells, the dampness mixing with his own dirtiness and fluids; he remembers seeing the beetles running along the walls and the acrid taste they left between his teeth. His stomach hungers for them now—anything to stop his own gastric acid from burning inside out. He knows they give him something, something to stop him from truly experiencing thirst and hunger but his throat and oesophagus rebel.

“Where is Ezra Bridger?” 

Malachor smelled like cracked earth and burnt dust. He remembers feeling the planet watching him, hungering for his entire being and lusting after his potential—the silent, alluring whispers promising power in exchange for utter devotion. He remembers the smell and how the ashes tasted, the sounds of a thousand deaths and the sensation of being alone and abandoned. 

“Where is Ezra Bridger?”

There is not a more comforting scent than the captain’s; it soothes Maul’s nerves and muddles his mind, shushing every thought and igniting his strong sense of possessiveness and yearning. The room smells damp and hot but his body constantly shivers from the cold. When Rex laughs, his chest vibrates and his eyes shine.

“Where is Ezra Bridger?”

Maul does not reply. He whispers words he does not understand, recollecting thoughts from this body and his original’s; he loses track of time and reality and drowns in memories but he cannot tell whether they are true or fabricated. It always comes down to yellow hands and the sound of splashing water; he swims with his eyes on the red sky above and hears the warm laugh of someone who calls him a rancor.

“I do not know,” he says again, again and again. 

Perhaps with time the answer will change.

“Stand,” he hears.

“Who are you,” he slurs before dropping down on the ground. He cannot stay up on his own. Whoever is carrying him is leading him somewhere else.

“Eyes close. Light.” He hums. “No fight. I bring you out.”

He thinks he falls asleep.

“Mandʻalor gar alor,” is the shout that startles him back to consciousness. He is on the ground. The ground is cold and feels like metal. “Ranah—”

He hears blaster shots and he grunts, trying to get up.

“No,” Ranah says. “Keep strong. I fly you out.”

He thinks he passes out.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When he comes back to himself, he knows gravity is artificial. He keeps his eyes closed and he takes a deep breath. He can only feel another sentient—Ranah. He tenses. His staff is right beside him; if he extends his fingers he could touch it.

“You here?” she asks, her voice distorted by her helmet but it sounds like she was asleep. He opens his eyes to stare at her. It is strange to be once again in a medbay and to see someone waiting for him to wake up. He feels… odd.

“You betrayed your creed,” he says. Ranah shakes her head.

“I follow creed. I follow haar Manda. You prisoner, not for Mand’alor. For Sabine Wren. Not for Mand’alor.” She thumps her chest six times. “No debt. I give back at you.”

“What debt?” He frowns. “You did not owe me anything.”

For a long moment she stays silent. She places her fingers on the bottom of her helmet and raises it slowly. Maul averts his gaze without thinking.

“No debt,” she says and it is the first time he hears her voice with no vocoder. He nods silently, staring at his staff. She touches one of his horns in a fashion that he recognizes as Iridonian; she tugs softly then releases him. “You sleep.”

He does.

  
  


When he wakes up he is not on the ship anymore. Gravity is higher than it is on Oba Diah. The bed isn’t theirs. He smiles when he feels the Force and who is beside him. He opens his eyes to the sight of Rose sleeping on a chair, half of her body lying on his bed. He touches her hair with the tips of his fingers and feels like he can breathe again—as if he could not before because he forgot how. The Force is indifferent to them and somehow the knowledge soothes him.

“Eight weeks,” Rex whispers on the other side of the bed. Then he falls silent. Maul does not dare look at him. He plays with Rose’s hair and swallows.

“I am fine,” he says. The burst of rage and anger lashing out in the Force is so strong his fingers still. He turns slowly to look at Rex and breathes sharply. He has never seen his eyes so full of hatred. “What happened,” he mutters.

The captain’s face becomes blank and he says, “You were gone.” Maul stays silent. After a moment, Rex averts his gaze. “We are not strong enough to take on Mandalore,” he says, his fist clenching over his mouth. “But we ca—”

“Rex,” Maul whispers. The captain’s eyes slide sharply to him.

“Give me a half year,” he says, taking Maul’s chin in hand to look him in the eye. “Five months. Just give me half a year and I—” 

“Rex.”

“She took you—”

“Rex.”

The captain closes his mouth abruptly and looks to the side. He does not say anything else. After a moment, Maul struggles to stay awake. He falls back asleep.

When he wakes up, he is on his own. A protocol droid comes in five minutes later.

“Where am I?” he asks, swallowing down a wince when he tries to sit up. His body feels tired even though he feels no pain. He looks down and does not see any new scar nor bandages.

“In a private wing, sir. Would you like some refreshments?”

Maul blinks. “Which planet is this?” The droid halts her steps.

“Naboo, sir. You are in Theed.”

Theed? The capital? Maul frowns. He tries to get up and stops himself from groaning.

“Leave us,” he hears. The captain rushes to his side and slings Maul’s arm around his shoulders. “‘Fresher?”

“Window,” he mutters. He wants to see outside. He wants to see daylight. “I am cold. I am—” He closes his mouth and lets Rex almost carry him to the other side of the room. When he looks out the window, he inhales sharply. He sees a reflecting pool and, farther away, a waterfall. “We are inside the Palace,” he whispers, astonished.

“We are,” Rex confirms, placing himself behind him. He slings an arm around his waist and tucks his nose in the crook of Maul’s neck. “Naboo never truly recovered from their ties with Palpatine—and it became even harsher for them after his return.”

Maul hums, staring at the landscape outside. “You control the Queen.”

“I do. As long as all the trade routes from here to the Core and Hutt Space,” he says unashamedly. “The vacuum was much bigger than we expected. It was bound to happen one way or another. If not us then someone—or something—else.”

“The First Order?” Rex nods. “Do you still share information with Poe Dameron and the defector?” The captain stays silent. Maul swallows. “What happened?”

“You were gone,” he whispers harshly. His hold around his waist tightens. “We will grow stronger than Mandal—”

“Re—”

“No,” he snaps. “She took you away from me. She tortured you and kept you imprison—”

“What does Rose think about this?” The captain falls silent. “Rex,” Maul says warily. “Have the objectives changed?” He receives no answer for a long moment. “Rex.” 

“I had to adapt,” the captain says. “The Guavian and the Black Sun joined our ranks. The Hutts, the Pykes and Kanjiklub know what’s good for them—and soon I will take over Mandalore’s black market.” He kisses his neck tenderly and whispers, “this is what you tried to build many decades ago.”

Maul swallows. “Not me,” he reminds him. “This is not what you wanted to do. Have the objectives chang—”

“No,” Rex mutters. “I _will_ dismantle everything. I will create chaos enough to stop someone else from rebuilding a cartel for a long time.”

Maul blinks, feels cold seeping in his blood and tastes fear sharply on his tongue, the sting invading his mouth. He stares at the waterfall and controls his breathing.

“But before that,” the captain whispers, tightening his hold almost painfully, “I want to watch Sabine Wren burn.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: canon typical violence, torture
> 
> I'm sorry sabine i love you  
> (one of the Guavian said 'e chu ta, lapti bukee' and even though no one knows what e chu ta means, I can tell you that the insult was more or less in the lines of 'go fuck yourself, pretty boy' 🤡)


	26. Naboo, 39 ABY

It is… an odd feeling. Maul wakes up and looks out the window. Dawn is not even near. The stars shine—but not as bright as they did on Oba Diah. He looks to the side and his eyes settle on Rex’s sleeping form. His back is slowly rising and falling, a soothing rhythm that implies deep slumber. Maul wants to touch his skin but is afraid to wake him up. Something… changed. It has been four months since they moved to Naboo—four months of his body reacquainting itself with the idea of solid food. More than twice the time it took it to forget how it felt yet there are times when anything passing through his throat refuses to stay down. 

It has been four months since Rex was certain Sabine Wren is gone. Mandalore has yet to say anything; their “leader” congratulated the First Senator on Chandrila yet no one batted an eye. From what they could gather, Wren’s closest advisor is missing as well. Rex has yet to inform anyone about this. He wants to know who exactly is in the know and why no one has yet to break the silence. 

“Are you certain it was always the same question?” Rex asked him one evening. Maul nodded silently.

“Why,” he asked back after a while. The captain shook his head and frowned.

“Memory rub,” Rex muttered. “Maybe she wanted to find out about something else.”

“What are you not telling me?” he asked with narrowed eyes. The captain glanced at him and averted his gaze immediately. “Rex.”

He shook his head. “It’s just… It’s unlike her. What she did to you—” He raised a hand when Maul took a step forward. His mood can be volatile these days; sometimes even thinking about her will send him in a fit of rage from which he does not get out of if he cannot check that Maul is safe and sound—and even then, sometimes it is not enough. It is… odd to realise Rex has become more prone to anger while Maul’s own rage is slowly becoming less… devouring. 

“I don’t get it,” his captain said. He stared at him and his jaw clenched. “There’s something I’m not seeing.”

Now Maul looks at the sleeping form besides him and frowns. His captain is becoming different. What they are doing here is affecting him; Maul can tell. Rose has been sent back to Ajan Kloss before he could protest and Rex has sheltered him to the point that he almost feels like a prisoner. He should feel rage and be devoured by anger—yet the idea of seeing anyone else at the moment makes his skin crawl and just thinking about the possibility renders breathing difficult. Rex stirs. His eyes immediately settle on his eyes and he rasps, “Maul?”

He looks at his captain and raises a hand to his cheek; he draws his own markings on Rex’s skin then lets his thumb rest on his bottom lip.

“Why are we here?” he whispers, not wanting to disturb the quiet. The captain blinks the sleep away and frowns in confusion. Maul swallows. “Why are we here, Rex?”

The captain pulls himself up on his elbows and says, “You know why.”

“No,” he replies. He leans closer and marvels at the way Rex instinctively rolls over and pulls him down against him. He puts his lips on his forehead and whispers, “There is no reason for us to be here.” He feels Rex’s arms tightening and pressing against his shoulder blades but there is no reply. “Rex.”

Silence.

“I am the one telling you to let go of your anger,” Maul whispers. “Ironic, is it not?”

“That’s not—”

“You do not owe the galaxy anything, captain,” he says over him, closing his eyes. “And it will survive without you.”

Rex pushes him away to stare at him. “What are you saying?” he mutters, tone careful and an absolute void in the Force. Maul swallows. He leans down to kiss him and sighs when the captain’s hands stop him from coming any closer. “What are you saying?” he repeats with a frown. There is no doubt in his mind that Rex is already preparing himself to argue. Maul huffs and sits back up, facing the window. It does not take much time before the captain sits besides him and places his chin in the crook of his neck. “What are you saying,” he whispers. Maul shivers when he feels coarse hairs tickling his skin. There is nothing he can say to try to convince him. He can only hope the captain will agree. He does not think he will.

“Leave with me,” he says. Rex stays silent. 

Maul’s gaze slides to where he knows he killed a Jedi. It has been sealed for decades now but Maul can feel its call constantly. There is power there, cold and beckoning, but also rage and defeat—a perfect rendition of Malachor on a very small scale. 

“With you,” the captain says with a quiet scoff. “So you've already decided you’re leaving.”

Maul nods. “Do you want me to stay?”

Rex stands up and walks backwards, shaking his head at him. “Are you—” He scoffs, covering his mouth with his hand and averting his gaze. “You make it sound like it would be an order.”

“I will stay if you want me to,” Maul says. The captain’s eyes narrow; his entire frame tenses.

“But?”

Maul’s hands twitch. This is not what he wanted. Where did he go wrong?

“Don’t you understand?” Rex says harshly. “We are _this_ close to—”

“To what?” he snaps, blood boiling. He gets up and snarls. “You control the major cartels in the galaxy. You took over the Mandalorian black market—half of the Senate can be linked to your affairs.” He bares his teeth and growls, “when does it end?”

“When I am certain no one can take over and rebuild everything,” the captain replies, voice getting louder. “If we stop now, I’m just leaving a spot for anybody to take over easily. If we stop now, I have no way of finding out who took you away from me; how am I supposed to think we’re done with corruption when it’s clear the First Senator _knows_ Sabine Wren is missing? How am I not leaving the Republic in a vulnerable position for someone like Palpatine to take over?”

Maul blinks. “Your duty to the Republic is over, captain,” he mutters. Rex scoffs in anger.

“I was _born_ to protect the Republic,” he sneers. “It’s not my duty; it’s my _life._ How can you not see th—”

“If it is so then my life belongs to the Sith,” he tells him. Rex startles and stops mid-sentence. He takes a step forward then stills.

“That’s not—” The captain’s jaw clenches and he swallows. “It’s not the same.”

“How so?” Maul asks, eyes narrowing. “I am a clone engineered by the Sith. My sole purpose is to serve them.” He flinches at his own words and clenches his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “How is it any different?”

“Kar’ika, I—that’s. That’s not what I meant,” he whispers. Rex’s eyes widen and he swallows. For a moment, neither of them moves. It takes time but Rex approaches carefully, raising his hands as if trying to coax a wild animal. Maul stiffens but he does not move away. “Are you—can I touch you?”

For a long moment, he looks around him and tries to think. His mind refuses to cooperate and his throat tightens. Maul nods shortly and stays silent. He closes his eyes when Rex places his forehead against his own.

“Would you leave?” his captain asks and Maul’s breath hitches.

“Only if you come with me,” he admits. “I will not otherwise.”

“Why?” Maul frowns. Rex opens his mouth but hesitates. “I just… You know you are free to leave whenever you want?”

“Yes,” he replies slowly. As much as the captain seems to create a wall between him and the outside world, it never occurred to Maul that Rex would stop him should he decide the wall was not welcome anymore. He leans away to look at him in confusion. “I fail to see—”

“I just want to know if you’re—if you think that, er, that…” He huffs in frustration. “Fierfek, I can’t find the right words.”

It takes him a moment but, when Maul understands, he shakes his head.

“It plagues you,” he says. Why does he always come back to when they met? “I do not understand why.”

“I know Rose was here too but I'm the first person you saw,” Rex explains. “I don't know. I'm just wondering if I hadn't–”

“We were not supposed to meet, captain,” he says, cutting him off. “Perhaps my original self would have been different, had he met you.”

The captain scoffs. “He would've killed me on the spot, yeah.”

“Perhaps,” Maul hums. “This is why he died alone.”

“Because he didn’t kill me?”

“Because he never met you,” he tells him, his thumb brushing the captain’s bottom lip. He sighs. It appears Rex can still change his mind even if he settled on a decision beforehand. “I will stay if you do because I want to be with you," he mutters. “It is not out of obligation or duty. I will stay because, if I have the choice, I choose you.”

Rex stares at him for a long moment; he does not move nor talk. His eyes are roving over Maul’s face, seeing what he will never be able to see himself. It is always breathtaking to see his mind at work. Maul thinks he will never tire of this. 

“Are you tired?” the captain asks.

“I—no?” he says, eyes narrowing. Rex grins. He pulls him flush against him and makes him walk backward until his legs hit the bed. Maul laughs and lets himself drop down. He moves to the middle of the bed and says, “Do you have something in mind, captain?”

Rex crawls over him and whispers against his lips, “Care to find out?”

Maul _does_ find out. He looks at his captain, at the way he is rising and falling above him, slowly rocking with him, wordlessly telling Maul what he needs to hear. Maul lies down and lets him take the lead, set the pace, choose the angles, place his hands where he wants them and he stares at his captain and knows it was foolish to think he could leave without him. He pulls him down against him and confesses in a whisper, “I choose you.” Rex claims his mouth then nothing else seems important anymore.

They are lying down besides one another when his captain finally speaks. “I choose you,” he says, his head on Maul’s chest, listening to his heartbeats. If it would not be… _painful_ for Rex, he thinks he would listen to his single heart every night before falling asleep—to have the certainty that Rex is here, alive, with him.

His captain’s head slides up so he can stare at him and he says, “give me a week. Then we leave.”

“We do?” he asks with surprise. Rex smiles.

“We do,” he confirms, eyes staring at the outside world. “I don’t like what I’m becoming. I, er. I noticed it. I just chose to ignore it for a moment but—” He clears his throat. “The moment is starting to stretch for too long.”

“You are changing,” Maul says softly. He swallows then adds, “so am I.”

Rex sits up on his elbows and frowns. “You are. And—it’s terrifying sometimes,” he mutters. “When you look at me, I stop thinking and I—I’m not used to that.” He puts his head back on Maul’s chest and says, “I didn’t think I would. But I’m ready to do things I wouldn’t have before and it’s—It’s a bit. I don’t know what to think about it.” He falls silent. Maul does not say anything. He raises his hand and plays with Rex’s hair—it has grown longer, enough for it to curl. He knows the captain will cut it eventually so he enjoys it while it lasts. The silence stretches comfortably between them, like a song in and of itself, and in this moment Maul realises his state of mind is intrinsically linked to his captain’s. If Rex is unhappy with how he is changing then so should Maul.

“I do not care what you may become,” he tells him. “I think—” He swallows, eyes staring at the scar he can feel on the side of Rex’s head but cannot see. “I cannot find what would make me not choose you.”

The captain stares at him but stays silent.

“Stars die. All things do,” Maul says. “Their impact can become meaningless with time. Everything becomes meaningless; it is easy to see purpose as vital as much as it is futile.”

“What are you saying,” Rex asks once again. Maul looks at the small frown of confusion gracing his face, the way his eyes fractionally narrow and his mouth twitch. He wants to commit the view to memory, to be able to revisit it whenever he wants. 

“I do not need a purpose. I do not need to know where I am going,” he whispers, his fingers sliding down the captain’s jaw. “Because I have you.”

Rex kisses him but stays silent. He falls asleep on Maul’s chest.

They fly away from Naboo two weeks later. He takes a slow breath in when they enter hyperspace, his hand seeking the captain’s, intertwining their fingers together. Rex looks at him, radiating calm in the Force, and he sees no doubt or fear on his face.

“I choose you,” his captain mutters, his eyes looking away at the blue waves of hyperspace before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the first things I knew I’d do is throwing all the main quests at Finn whenever I can because I fully think he is The Protagonist(tm) while Rex and Maul are just ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ there I guess. So anyway, Maul doesn't care but it seems like our protagonist just unlocked a new quest sent by his trustee sidekicks! My dear Finn, enjoy dismantling slave rings, rehabilitating stormtrooper cadets, taking down the biggest crime syndicates and fighting corruption in the Senate while the bois just,,,,take the clown car and go on a roadtrip. So much fun ahead!!
> 
> (I’m joking but not really; Finn will always be my favorite in the sequels and I really think he deserves to be the hero and get ~~the girl~~ Poe while Rey can do whatever the fakk she wants; treat yourself girl 💅🏽)
> 
> Something else I've been meaning to say,,,,I decided to steer this away from Rex going full shadow king mainly because I like to think dead space is fluff (or as fluffy as I can get ಥ_ಥ) and I _knew_ if I took that road it would go Badly Very Badly so,,,,maybe someday I'll do a short piece about it but not for this fic 🙈


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